If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.

Watching Brad

WATCHING BRAD
Part I

I hate moving, which I was doing. I hate it more when it's hot and humid outside, which it was. Add to that the fact that my buddy, Alec, copped out on me somewhere between the pizza place and my new house, and the fact that there was a wicked storm on the way, and I was at my absolute lowest point. I looked into the back of the truck and saw the piles of stuff I had to carry in. The moving company had already moved and unloaded most of my household, but here I stood, in my driveway, with a half-ton truck full of boxes and the last, precious items that I refused to trust to the movers, no matter how healthy they looked.

I glanced across the street toward the west. The clouds didn't look pleasant at all. They were dark and grey and I could see the sheets of rain falling out of them in the distance. I knew they'd be overhead soon and I'd be fucked.

Nothing for it, then. I dropped the tailgate of the truck and started hauling boxes. I could only hope that asshole friend of mine would show up and help me with the big stuff before the storm hit. I was pissed, to be sure. I couldn't get him on his cell phone and I had no idea where he was. I was not a happy camper!

By the time I got the boxes inside, I could hear thunder rumbling ominously. I flipped on the central air and tried to phone Alec one more time. I tried both his cell phone and his home phone to no avail. I was on my own. I hoofed it back outside and jumped up into the truck bed and pulled out all eight drawers from my Grandma's antique dresser and made two piles of them on the tailgate. I jumped down, grabbed up one of the piles, and headed into the house. I carried them into my bedroom and carefully set them on the floor against the wall and headed back to the living room.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Standing there inside the door, holding the other four drawers in his hands, was a young man. "Where do you want these?" he said. His voice was pleasant and his smile was friendly.

"Umm," I said, stupidly and approached him. "I'll take them."

"I've got ‘em. Just show me where to put them."

I swept my hand back. "Last door on the right. Thanks."

He walked past me and I watched him as he disappeared down the hallway. He was a bit shorter than me, but I had on a lot more clothes. All he wore were a pair of white sneakers and a pair of very tight, very short, cut-off jeans. The elastic band of his underwear poked above the denim. His back looked strong and his arms looked even stronger. His brown hair was neatly cut and trimmed, hanging long in the back and short and spikey on top. I couldn't remember what his face looked like except that it wasn't unpleasant to look at. I had been so stunned when I saw him that I forgot to pay attention.

He appeared in the hallway again, walking toward me. He was smiling a bright, welcoming smile. One of his upper front teeth was chipped. He had a young, unblemished face, and a slightly upturned nose. His chest looked just as powerful as his arms. A smattering of short hairs shadowed his muscular pecs and a small patch of hair centered itself between them. A widening trail spread down stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. It was the bulge in his jeans which caught my attention, though. Either he had a couple of rolled-up socks stuffed in his pants or he was a very lucky boy.

"Hi, I'm Brad," he said. I liked his voice. He held out his hand.

I looked up, embarrassed. I'm sure I was blushing. "Oh, um. Sorry," I stammered as I grasped his hand in a shake. "I, um. . . I'm Ted."

"Hey, don't sweat it, Ted," he said. "It takes everyone by surprise."

I released his hand.

"Come on," he said, "we better get the rest of your stuff inside before it rains. Gonna be quite a storm. Tornado warnings and all that."

I turned and followed him out the door. "Great," I joked. "I move into a new house and it ends up in Oz before I get settled in."

"Say ‘hi' to Dorothy for me." I could hear him chuckling.

I walked to the back of the truck and was just ready to climb onto the tailgate when Brad approached the side, placed his hand on the wall of the truck, and vaulted over it, landing on sure, steady feet on the truck bed.

"Dresser?" he asked, and I answered "Yeah." I grabbed the base of the dresser at my end and Brad grabbed the other end at the top. Together, we moved the dresser back. He set his end on the tailgate for a moment so he could grab the base, then lifted it and, with the skill of a gymnast, stepped off the truck onto the driveway.

I started to like Brad immediately. He was a powerhouse and a workhorse, and he treated all my stuff with delicate crystal care. He worked hard to help me get my things inside before the storm hit and, within minutes, my shirt was soaked with sweat as I tried to keep up with him. His own upper body was covered with a healthy sheen of perspiration. I had to admire his muscular youth, and I wish I still had some of my own at that moment. By the time we carried the last piece in, I was gasping for breath, my desk-job muscles were weakening quickly, and he was still smiling.

Thank goodness the central air was kicking in and the air inside was starting to feel fresher already. I quickly found a box in the bathroom, ripped it open, and grabbed a couple of towels. I returned to the living room, tossed one to Brad, and told him to have a seat on the sofa. "I'll be right back." I went back to the truck. The rain was just beginning to fall. The heavy clouds made the afternoon light look like dusk and lightning flashes shattered the dimness and heavy thunder rolled across the sky. I grabbed the pizzas and the 12-pack of beer, locked the truck doors, and headed back inside.

I dug out the coffee table from the corner, set it in front of the sofa, and placed the pizzas on it. Brad had spread the towel over the sofa and was sitting on it. "The least I can do is feed you," I said. "Are you old enough to drink?"

I was tempted to ask how he could squeeze a wallet into that back pocket. Instead, I asked, "Beer?"

"Sure."

I ripped open the lid of the case of beer, grabbed two bottles, and handed him one. We twisted off the tops and took a long, refreshing swig. Outside, the storm began in earnest and the house became eerily dark.

"You saved my ass, man," I said as I set down the beer and began opening my shirt. It was sticking to me all over. I felt a little self-conscious when I pulled it off. At 32, I wasn't horribly out of shape yet, but after almost 10 years of sitting behind a desk, I certainly didn't look as good as the young man sitting on my sofa. "Do you mind if I leave this off for awhile?"

"Hell, no, man," he replied. "It's your house. You shouldn't have to ask."

"If I had a body like yours, I wouldn't have."

Brad actually blushed. "Thanks," he said shyly. "You're not so bad. Don't sweat it. Now, if you looked like my Dad, I might object. I don't know how I ended up like this when I see him. He's so skinny."

I finished toweling myself as I turned on a few lights, and dropped to the sofa in near exhaustion. I opened both pizzas. "Ham, pepperoni, cheese and pineapple," I pointed to one box, and then, as I pointed to the other, "everything except anchovies. Help yourself."

Brad eagerly grabbed a slice of ‘everything' pizza and set about devouring it hungrily.

"So, I take it you live around here?"

"Yeah," he nodded his head to one side. "Right next door. With the black shutters. I still live there with Mom and Dad. At least until I finish university."

"Oh? What are you studying?"

"Engineering at Ryerson."

"Good university."

"Yeah. My older brother graduated from there a few years ago."

"At least you're close enough," I said. "What do you do, take the Go train?"

"Yeah. It's cheaper than living in Toronto, and Mom does all the cooking and she washes my clothes. All I have to do is sit around the house looking pretty." Brad stopped chewing and said, "Aw, geez! Sorry, Ted. Mom's always saying that to everybody."

"Well, you are a handsome young man."

"Thanks." He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Then he looked at me again. "I'm glad you bought this house. I like you. You're a lot nicer than Old Man Perkins. That guy gave me the creeps. All he did all day was sit around looking at me with this scowl on his face."

I nodded. "Good old Mr. Perkins. I met him only once. After that, I made my real estate agent deal with him. I couldn't stand him."

Brad leaned forward to grab another slice of pizza. "He didn't approve with the way I dressed."

I couldn't understand why. I wasn't even gay and I didn't find Brad difficult to look at. He was like a walking art exhibit. I pointed at his rounded crotch. "That probably had a lot to do with it, right?"

He glanced down at himself. "Probably," he said, "but it didn't matter what I wore. He just didn't like me and I didn't like him. I dressed like this just to piss him off."

I thought for a moment. Then, stupidly, I put my foot in it and asked, "Is that really you in there?"

He looked at me and I nodded toward his crotch. "Yeah," he said. "It's all me. Don't know where I got that, either. Not from Dad, that's for sure. I think I look a lot like my Uncle Andy. My Mom's brother. Maybe I got it from her side of the family."

"Doesn't it. . . like. . . get in the way?"

"Sometimes," He said. "Can I have another slice?"

"Sure, help yourself."

He snatched up another slice and settled back once more. "That's why I have to wear underwear. I flop around too much if I don't, and it hurts." With a wicked, almost evil smile, he added, "Mind you, sometimes I wouldn't wear any just to tease Old Man Perkins. He'd just look at me and call me a ‘prevert'."

"It's ‘pervert'," I corrected.

"I know, but Perkins always said ‘prevert'." He laughed. "Look who was calling the kettle black! He was the one who was always watching me. Hell, one night I caught him standing at my bedroom window watching me jerk off. He just called me a ‘prevert' and kept on watching me."

That surprised me. "You didn't stop?"

"Nope. I was in my own bedroom. He was trespassing. I think the old guy was just jealous."

"Whoa!" I exclaimed. "That's wild."

"Yeah, it was. The first time, I did it just to piss him off more. After that, it became a bit of a game."

"You did it more than once?"

"Sure," Brad said. "Every night as long as the weather was good. One night, he was standing out there in the rain with an umbrella over his head. Guess it was more fun for him than watching cable."

"Holy shit," I said as I shook my head. "Why didn't you call the police on him?"

"What for? He never did anything except look."

"But peeking in someone's window like that is a crime."

Brad shrugged. "Hell, I was probably the only entertainment the old guy had. Sometimes I'd see him out back for hours just waiting for me. At first, I did it just to piss him off, but after awhile, it was like he looked forward to it so much that he'd be disappointed if I closed the curtains."

"But you didn't even like the guy!"

Brad paused between bites of his pizza and looked at me. "No, I didn't, but that doesn't make him any less deserving of a little bit of happiness once in awhile."

Outside, the storm still raged. Rain pounded against the windows and roof and I could actually feel the house shaking in the wind. But the storm didn't concern me as much as what I was hearing. I shook my head again. "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't understand. You couldn't stand the guy and yet you entertained him every night?"

Brad pulled his knees up, planting his feet flat on the floor. He spread his legs, turned his whole body to face me, and rested his elbows on his legs. He stared at the floor for a bit, then looked at me and said, "I didn't like him. He gave me the creeps. But he never did anything to me. He never caused any trouble for me, not even when I broke his window with a soccer ball. His wife died of cancer when I was 10 years old, and she'd been sick for years. He had a tough life and there wasn't much happiness in it."

He paused again and turned reflective. "At first, it was just to annoy him, like I said. And then, one night a month or so later, after I'd finished. . . you know. . . I looked at him in the window. He had such a sad look in his eyes, but he was smiling. And then he said ‘thank you' and turned and walked back home. After that, I was doing it because it made him happy for a few minutes a day."

He wasn't bragging. I could see it in his face and I could hear it in his voice. No matter how he felt about Mr. Perkins, he was willing to do what he could to make Perkins' life a bit better.

"The world needs more people like you, Brad," I said seriously.

Brad hung his head, a large grin on his lips. He blushed again.

* * * * *

We sat talking after that. I told him all about my work in Toronto and why I preferred to live in a smaller town that the big city. I told him about my failed marriage and showed him pictures of my daughter, Lindsay. "She's 9 years old now."

"She looks like a ballerina," Brad mentioned.

"She takes dancing lessons, but she doesn't really like ballet. She just takes it because it helps her with her other dancing."

"I can't dance," Brad said. "I have two feet. Both of them are left."

I snickered. I was going to enjoy having Brad as a neighbour. The storm was fading away into the east. Only the distant rumble of thunder and a gentle rain remained.

"Looks like Dorothy is going to have to do without your company tonight."

I looked up at the ceiling. "Looks like you're right." Then I looked at him. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure."

"Would you help me set up my bed before you go? I was just going to crash on the sofa tonight, but while you're here. . ."

"No problem," he said as he jumped to his feet. "Lead the way."

I tried to rise out of the sofa and suddenly realized how sore and tired I was. Like I said, I hate moving. I sank back into the sofa with a groan. Brad laughed, stepped in front of me, grabbed me under my arms, and pulled me up. "Come on, Old Man. On your feet." When I was standing, he added, "Do you need Uncle Bradley to carry you?"

I laughed. "I think I can walk, thank you."

As we were putting the bed frame together, Brad said, "I'll come over tomorrow and help you unpack and rearrange your furniture."

"You don't have to do that," I said hastily. "I can manage."

"I don't mind. Nothing better to do. How does 10 o'clock sound?"

"I'll be on my way to Toronto to take back the truck and get my car."

Brad stopped. "Oh, really? Where in Toronto?"

"Mississauga."

"Cool," he said. "Could I go with you and have you drop me off at Ryerson? I need to get some books from the library. I want to get a head start on the next semester."

"It's the least I can do after all you've done for me. I'll pick you up on the way back."

"I can take the Go."

"You could, but you're not. I'll pick you up on my way back."

Brad smiled his thanks and nodded. "What time tomorrow?"

"Is 9 o'clock too early?"

"That's fine with me. I'll be ready."

Before long, my bed was set up and Brad even helped me make it up with sheets and pillowcases. I offered him one more beer before he left, which he accepted, along with one more slice of pizza. That boy could eat!

Then it was time for him to go home. "See you tomorrow morning."

I held out my hand for him to shake. He took it, and I grabbed his forearm with my other hand. "Thanks for all your help, Brad. I really mean it. I would have been screwed if you didn't come over."

"Any time, Ted." For the first time, I noticed how green his eyes were and how bright his smile was. It was a warm, friendly face, and it all belonged to a warm, friendly young man. "I'm going to enjoy having you as a neighbour."

Re: Watching Brad

WATCHING BRAD
Part II

As soon as Brad closed the door, I started looking for my cigarettes. Yeah, I know all about it. I don't need any lectures. I've heard them all. Tell you what. I'll give up smoking the minute you give up jerking off. It's a pretty safe bet that my nasty little habit will continue, because you sure as hell aren't going to stop yours.

So, like I said, I was looking for my smokes. Nothing in the shirt and they weren't anywhere I could see in the house, so I must have left them on the dashboard of the truck. I checked the pocket of my shorts and found the keys, so out I went. It was still drizzling rain, but it felt good on my bare skin and the air was a lot fresher now that the cold front had moved through. I found my cigarettes on the dash, grabbed them, popped one in my mouth, and lit it. I got that dizzy feeling one gets when one hasn't had a smoke in awhile. I closed and locked the truck.

I walked to the end of the driveway, then across the lawn where I stopped and turned toward my house. ‘My house.' That sounded good. It didn't belong to anyone but me. It was mine. My daughter would have her own room, of course, for when she came during my custody visits. She could have the smaller bedroom at the front of the house across from my bedroom. I didn't mind the early-morning sunlight as much as she did.

I'd have to do something about the landscaping, though. There wasn't any. Just a lot of clumpy grass and one scraggly old tree. Planting gardens would give me something to do on weekends.

I headed across the lawn toward the side of the house, then to the back. I'd have to find a ‘smoking spot'. I never smoked in the house or the car. Just another habit I'd got into when Lindsay was born. I wouldn't expose her to my nasty habit, and I didn't intend to start now.

The back yard was in worse condition than the front yard. That would be a project for next year. I planned on installing a swimming pool anyway, so I would do it all at the same time. The hedgerow along the back of the property gave nice privacy from the neighbours behind me, but there was nothing along the sides except short, stone walls about knee-high, topped with flat, concrete slabs. I figured I'd get to know my neighbours before I started putting up privacy fences. It thought it best to work with them and come up with something that all of us liked.

I sat on the stone wall, relishing the exquisite feeling of the misty rain falling over me. After four days of unbearable humidity and heat, it was more refreshing than any shower had felt. I'd take a shower anyway, before I went to bed, but for now, the rain was nice. I suppose I should have been inside, unpacking, but I was just too tired to even think about it right now.

"Hi."

I jumped. Really, I did. My heart was pounding, my cigarette fell out of my hands and onto the wet grass, and I was on my shaky legs at the snap of my fingers. I spun around.

"Gee-sus Murphy, Brad!" I yelled. "You scared the bloody shit out of me!"

"Sorry," he apologized, but he didn't stop grinning at me.

"If this is the way you greeted Perkins, it's no wonder he moved!"

"I really am sorry, Ted," he apologized again. He was still grinning. "It was pretty funny, though. You almost reached orbit."

"And you almost put me six feet under!" But I couldn't stay angry for long. I knew he hadn't intended to scare me like that. He sat on the wall and swung his legs over. He was still dressed as I had last seen him just a few minutes earlier. I sat beside him and bent down to pick up my cigarette. It was all soggy. I dropped it to the ground again until I could find a butt can to put it in.

"Stop apologizing, okay?" I looked into his face. The smile was gone, replaced with sincerity.

I smiled then, and started to giggle. "It was pretty funny, wasn't it?"

Brad's smile returned, chipped tooth and all. He took his and away from my shoulder and placed it in his lap to join the other one. "I thought you'd be inside unpacking. I saw you sitting here when I took out the garbage and thought I'd come over. Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. Look, I just came out for a smoke and you kinda spoiled that one for me. Do you mind if I have another one?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Should I?"

"I just like to ask first. I don't smoke if it bothers people."

"Is that why you didn't smoke in the house? Because I was there?"

"I don't smoke in the house. I haven't since Lindsay was born." I looked up at the back of the house as I lit up another cigarette. "This is her home, too."

"I think I'm going to like having you as a neighbour, Ted."

I looked at him. He was still smiling and his hair was becoming slick with the gentle drizzle. "I already like having the one I've met." An idea came into my head. "Hey. Are you working for the summer?"

"Three bucks, Brad. That's my final offer. And all the pizza and beer you want."

Again, he sat there staring at me. His hand came up. "Deal," he said.

I shook his hand. His grip was firm. "Deal," I repeated.

He took his hand back and stood up. "I'd better get back. Mom wants me to carry the laundry down to the basement. She's got a bad back."

"Sure, okay."

"See you tomorrow morning."

"Bright and early," I reminded him.

"Yup."

He bounded over the fence and was gone.

* * * * *

Alec phoned me as I was unpacking my clothes.

"Sorry, man," he said. "Got a flat tire. I tried to call you."

"Like Hell you did, Alec!" I responded, perhaps a little more angrily than I should have been. "You promised you'd help me and you go running off with the first bimbo you meet at a stop light! What was she this time? Blonde? Redhead?"

"Come on, man. No harm, no foul."

"That's just like you, Alec! Too fuckin' busy getting your rocks off to keep a promise! Well, fuck you the next time you need money, Alec! Ask one of your bimbos! I've had enough of your bullshit!"

I hung up on him. I felt pretty good about it, too. The phone rang again, but I ignored it and went back to sorting out my clothes.

* * * * *

I stood in the kitchen, my butt leaning against the countertop. Somewhere under that pile of boxes was my microwave oven, and I was just too tired to dig it out. I'd have to eat the pizza cold.

I picked up the box with the pineapple topping, grabbed a bottle of beer, and headed out the back door. The rain had stopped entirely by now, and the sky was clear. A quarter moon was just peeking above the roof of the house, lost in the stream of stars we call the Milky Way. I settled myself gingerly on the stone wall, set the pizza on one side and popped open the beer. I hurt all over. I took a refreshing swig. The night air felt good, but I could feel the humidity rolling back in again already.

With my free hand, I opened the box and grabbed up a slice. It tasted good, even cold. I heaved a sigh and sagged into myself. Damn, I was getting old, I thought. Here I was, only 32 years old, and a little hard work had me more exhausted than I'd ever felt in my life.

Thank God for Brad. That boy had saved my ass big time. I thought of my Grandma's chest of drawers and I thought how horrible I would have felt if I couldn't get it out of the rain. And the rocking chair. Can't forget that. I smiled as I chewed, remembering the long hours I would sit in my Grandma's lap when I was a little boy. She would rock me until I fell asleep, and then she would carry me to my bed. She lived with us after Grandpa died. I don't remember him at all. After Grandma died, Mom asked me if I wanted anything and I asked for the dresser with the mirror and the rocking chair.

When Lindsay was born, I would rock her in that same chair. She loved it just as much as I did. It will be hers when she grows up.

I sighed again, finished off the slice of pizza I'd been munching, and lit up a cigarette. As an afterthought, I grabbed another slice.

Yes, indeed, Brad had saved my ass. It was interesting meeting someone of his age with such a pleasant personality. I smiled as I remembered seeing him the first time, standing there with the drawers in his hands. I had no idea who he was, and yet he was helping me out of a difficult situation. And that bed. I'm sure if he hadn't been there, I'd be sleeping on the sofa tonight.

I was actually looking forward to driving him to Ryerson the next day. I enjoyed his company. He certainly was a free spirit. And caring, too. The way he'd spread out that towel on the sofa before sitting down just so he didn't sweat on it. Alec would never have been that considerate.

And suddenly, the image came into my mind of Brad sitting there, legs propped up on the box, and that huge mound in his shorts sticking out the way it did. I still thought he'd been bullshitting me about that being all him, but it had all looked so real. I mean, the way he sat there, with his legs closed, everything was pushed up. I guess I was just too used to thinking about what would happen to me if I sat like that. Nothing. The only thing I could hope for was the pants folding in such a way that it looked like I actually had something to show.

Wishful thinking.

I was all that I was ever going to be, and that was that. Like it or lump it.

Still, if that really was Brad stuffed in those jeans, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be him. I mean, it would all be nice to have and to show off with, but wouldn't it get in the way? And wouldn't you get tired of everyone looking at it?

Brad seemed so casual and blasé about it. He wasn't showing off or anything. It was just the way he was. That was how he was made and he lived with it. There wasn't anything he could do about it, really, except to wear looser clothes, but I got the feeling that Brad didn't wear tight jeans to brag. He wore them because he felt comfortable in them. Maybe they helped to hold everything in place to keep it from flopping around too much.

Sure, I suppose you could call it bragging when he masturbated for Old Man Perkins, but I don't think he would have done that if Perkins hadn't been such an asshole. It was Brad's way of saying, "Fuck you." Probably the same as giving someone the finger.

And then I remembered the way Brad had changed when he was telling me about Perkins standing at his bedroom window and saying ‘thank you'. That blew me away. Brad's attitude had changed after that. He didn't do it anymore to piss off the old man. He did it to entertain him. I didn't understand that back then, but I do now.

I get the feeling now that Perkins was so far in the closet that he was on a first-name basis with the moths. He was old. Probably in his seventies. He was brought up in an era when homosexuality was forbidden. (It still is, I suppose, but that's changing.) I mean, gay people back then either grew up as old maids or eternal bachelors. They probably spent their entire lives hiding from and lying to everyone. If they had any sexual encounters, they were probably when they were younger. But, as they grew older, there was nothing for them except their lonely, empty lives.

I think Perkins was most likely gay. But he did as he was expected to do and got married. He lived a lie his entire life until his wife died. By then, it was too late for him. The only thing he had was Bradley. His orneriness probably came from the fact that Brad was a constant reminder of everything he had never been able to have. Was he jealous of Brad? Of his youth, maybe. Of the life he had before him and everything he could do with it. Angry at him? No. I don't think so. I think he was mad at himself for having wasted his life in a lie. Watching Brad masturbate was everything he had missed. Watching Brad was everything that might have been.

I didn't feel sorry for Perkins back then. I do now, though.

Light suddenly appeared from somewhere. I looked to my right, then to my left. Over my shoulder, I saw light coming from a window in Brad's house. I was about to turn back when Brad appeared. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and he was scrubbing his hair with another.

I suppose I should have gone back in the house then, but I didn't.

To Be Continued

* * * * *

(Before I get on with the next part, I would like to tell you that Ted isn't based upon anyone, but Brad is actually based upon a once-dear friend of mine. The facial and body descriptions are embellished to protect him, but any descriptions of that area below his belly button and above his thighs are not from my imagination. They are very real.)

Re: Watching Brad

GSDX, Man, you are really an excellent writer! I read the first chapter of "Watching Brad" last night, then went to "Best Buddies" and was completely blown away. Thanks for the great stories and I can't wait to see the next chapter!

Re: Watching Brad

Neil,

I like how this story is going. Just a taste of sexual flavor, but leading into a good friendship that I am sure will progress as time goes on. All that makes for more intriguing thoughts of the future and I can't wait to read more.

Re: Watching Brad

WATCHING BRAD
Part III

I hadn't realized that Brad's bedroom was in the same corner of his house as my own bedroom. That put him almost right beside where I was sitting. His windows were open and I could hear music coming from them. No air conditioning in his room, that's for sure. He scrubbed his hair dry with a big, light-blue towel as he walked about. A large, white towel was wrapped around his waist and I tried not to stare, but at least my curiosity had been satisfied. Unless Brad had found a way to somehow stuff rolled-up socks under that towel, it had, indeed, been ‘all him' in those shorts.

He wasn't even excited and the tent formed a long ridge down the front of the towel. It was definitely longer than a toilet paper cardboard tube, and at least as thick, and, when he walked, it shifted from side to side. You can't get rolled-up socks to do that unless you tape them to your balls.

Now, you must be wondering to yourself. "Weren't you just giving Brad shit a few hours ago for not calling the police on Old Man Perkins for doing the exact same thing you're doing now?" Well, yes, I was. But there's something you have to understand. It's not something I had any control over. If you're a guy, you know what I'm talking about.

You see, guys are intrigued by big things. Big cars. Big planes. Big buildings. Big holes in the ground. Big explosions. Big car crashes. Doesn't matter what it is, as long as it's big. And if it's not big, it better be powerful. Throw ‘big' and ‘powerful' together, though, and you've got something that draws guys like magnets. And that applies to dicks as well. How many times have you stood at a urinal taking a piss and caught the guy beside you peeking out of the corner of his eye? You think he likes watching you piss? Nope.

Guys are fascinated by dicks. They have to know what's in your pants. They have to know if they're bigger than you are, but they're also afraid they're going to see one bigger than their own. (In my case, that applies to about one-half of the male population.) Maybe it's an alpha male thing. I don't know. But when a man sees a cock that's bigger than his own, he respects it. If he sees one that is bigger than a paper towel tube, he bows down to it.

So, that's what I was doing - waiting around to see if I should just nod my head in respect or if I had to get on my knees and kowtow to it.

"Okay, enough blabbering," you say. I hear you. You're not interested in what goes on in a man's head. You want to get right into the meat of the story - so to speak. Well, here it is.

Brad finished drying his hair and disappeared out of view of the window. He was gone for a minute or two and came back with his hair neatly brushed and his bare ass hanging out. He'd taken off the white towel and was using it to dry the rest of his body. But he was facing the other way, and that was all I got to look at. I'm not much of a judge on guys' asses. I mean, I don't think I've ever stood at a urinal and checked out the butts beside me. Who gives a shit if his ass is bigger than mine? Asses aren't important. At least not to me.

But, I suppose they're important to some people, so I'll do my best to describe it. It was a nice ass. Probably one of the nicest I've seen. It was round and solid and didn't jiggle when he walked or moved. It had nice indents in the cheeks but no hair that I could see. On a scale of one to ten, I'd probably give it an eight.

"Blah, blah, blah! Get to the good parts!" Okay, okay! I'll skip all the parts about when he bent down to dry his legs and feet. I looked away when he did that anyway, so I don't know what you missed. When I looked back, he was facing the window again, drying his belly, but soon he was at the ‘good parts'.

Now, I've seen a lot of dicks in my time. All through high school and university. All through those six months I spent at the gym. All those urinal guys. Some of them I paid respect to. Some of them were worthy of a kowtow. Some were worthy of a nya nya. But Brad. . .

Brad was worthy of total prostration. I didn't feel worthy of even sharing the same planet with him, let alone the same city. Even soft, I guessed my hardon would fit easily in his cock. It was huge! And thick! No skin. He'd been cut. His dick head was nicer than mine, though. It had a nice ‘helmet' shape. Mine was more like a ‘bowler hat'. I always wished I had a cockhead like his. And it had a nice, solid ridge - the kind that flares out like a ski jump. I have to admit, it was one of the prettiest cocks I'd ever seen.

His balls were equally impressive. Maybe not quite as big as Grade A Medium eggs. He didn't need rolled up socks, that's for sure. It's no wonder they made that mountain in his shorts when he sat with his legs crossed. They hung low, too. I don't think they had much choice but to hang low without anti-gravity units attached to them. It's funny now that I think about it, but I remember thinking at that moment that Brad could never play volleyball in a nudist colony without causing himself some serious injuries.

So, my curiosity was satisfied. I had peeked at the man beside me at the urinal and I had made my assessment. My job was done and I was suitably humbles and subservient. I grabbed up my bottle of beer and finished it in one pull. It was time I was in bed. With the empty beer bottle in one hand and the box of pizza cradled under the other, I stood up, ready to go inside.

That's when I stopped dead in my tracks. Brad was sitting on his bed. I could see it now. But that wasn't what I was looking at. Brad had a hardon now, and he had his hands wrapped around it. Yup! Both hands! His right hand on top of the left. And there was still room at the top for one more. From the look of it, there wasn't much overlap of his fingers and thumbs, if they even touched at all.

A moment ago, I said his cock was pretty. Now, I'm telling you that it was nothing short of beautiful. Some guys are ‘growers'. Some guys are ‘showers'. Brad was both. The shaft was a lot thicker now, and smooth. No veins. And the head had expanded into a beautiful thing. Larger, smoother, purplish, and the glans had flared into a jaw-dropping ridge. Brad was going to make some lucky lady a very happy person.

His hands were moving up and down at the same time, stroking that shaft from base to the head. He knew what he was doing. He'd probably spent hours practicing his moves. I just stared at him. It was like watching an apartment building burning down. I couldn't look away.

He was squeezing hard. I could see that. And he was looking at it. He did a few quick strokes, then started from the base and moved up slowly. Then he'd start the faster strokes again. One time, when he reached the top during a ‘slow stroke', he released his right hand while his left continued to the head. He dragged his fingertip across the tip of his cock and then moved it near his mouth. His tongue came out and licked the tip of his finger. He was tasting his pre-cum, and he must have liked it because he did it again.

He went back to stroking with both hands after he applied another squirt of oil to his cock. He would change the speed - going faster for a few strokes, then going slower. Sometimes he would stop his left hand at the base and jerk off with the right hand. A few times, he'd wrap his right hand around his cockhead and just twist it as if he were unscrewing a bottle of beer. He seemed to like that move the best, and he did it a lot. He would throw his head back and open his mouth when he did that.

I guess he'd had enough of the foreplay after only a few minutes because he got down to some serious jerking off then. His left hand cupped his balls and his fingers played with them as his right hand began a steady stroking up and down. It was a hell of a long trip, I'll tell you. His eyes were closed now, his mouth hanging open slightly, and his chest was heaving with the deep breaths he was taking. Faster and faster his hand moved. His face began to scrunch up. Wrinkles formed on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. I was mesmerized by the sight.

I'm not a fast stroker. I like mine to go slow and easy. Brad was just the opposite. When I didn't think his hand could go faster, he made a liar out of me. Within a minute or two, his fist was flying along his cock. It got thicker and the head grew in size and began to pulsate. His mouth dropped open and I could hear him grunting, even over the music that was playing. Suddenly, he clenched his teeth, scrunched his face, and let out a long moan. I looked down in time to see the first rope of cum fly out of his cock and hit him squarely on the chin. It splashed onto his chest and flowed down his stomach. Another rope flew out, and then another, and another. I counted seven of them before the spasms began to slow. Still he stroked. Slower, now, but he still stroked as he squeezed the final drops of semen from his pump. It fell to his belly in a pool. My eyes travelled upward. Splatters of cum covered his chest, and there was even a few splatters on his face and in his hair. I had missed seeing them land there. And then he stopped stroking and fell back onto the bed.

I turned slightly and dropped to the wall. The beer bottle fell out of my hand and I set the pizza on the stone slab. It was only then that I realized I had a hardon. I stood up again and quickly rearranged my prick to a more comfortable position and sat back down again. I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sat there, going over in my mind what had just happened.

* * * * *

I don't jerk off much these days. I sort of got out of the habit when I was married, and especially after Lindsay was born. I didn't want to take the chance of her seeing me do that. Even after my wife gave up on sex during our last three years of marriage, I didn't do it. Probably because Missy Prissy Pants wife thought it was the most disgusting thing a man could do.

Well, Missy Prissy Pants would have been doubly disgusted that night when I went to bed. I couldn't help it. I masturbated twice before I could go to sleep. I don't think it was Brad himself who cause me to do it as much as it was the way he had enjoyed the experience so much. Sure, he was a nice enough looking young man, and I would have sold my left nut to have a body like his, but that isn't why I watched him. At least, I don't think that was the reason.

Like I said earlier, it was like watching a building burning down. I was rooted to the spot. I don't think my feet would have taken me anywhere no matter how much I tried to get them to go. It wasn't memory, I know that. I mean, it wasn't remembering my youth and wishing I could jerk off like that. I never did. I would just grab hold, stroke, cum, and wipe it up. Jerking off was just something that was fun to do. But Brad made it an experience, like enjoying a $5,000 bottle of fine wine or driving a Ferrari. Brad didn't just jerk off. He made love to his cock and to himself. I think that's what I found so intriguing and. . . so exciting.

I had my small circle of friends when I was younger. We discovered our dicks together, and we discovered how to make them feel good together. We did all the usual boy-boy things together when it came to sex, but that was just kids' stuff. We grew out of it when we discovered girls liked what boys had dangling between their legs. All that boy-boy stuff was just a distant memory.

Not Brad, though. All I have to do is think about him and the image of that first stream of cum splashing onto his chin pops into my brain. It's like seeing Lindsay take her first step, or hearing her the first time she said ‘Daddy'. It's something I don't think I'll ever forget.

My second-last thought that night, before I went to sleep, was that I would have to find another place to smoke my cigarettes.

My last thought, though, just before consciousness left me, brought a mental smile to my face and a tingly feeling in my groin.

* * * * *

Shit! Shit! And double Shit! Quarter to nine!

I jumped out of bed and tore off to the bathroom. Thank God I'd unpacked the towels and stuff last night after I had unpacked my clothes. I cranked up the shower, stripped off my Jockeys, and jumped in. Just a quick scrub-down was all I had time for. Not even enough time for a proper shampoo. I did a quick lather and rinse, but I didn't repeat.

It was five past nine when I exited the door, locking it behind me. I had on my favourite blue shorts with enough pockets to carry all the crap I had to carry and a nice, pale blue shirt with my smokes carefully tucked into the pocket. Brad was waiting for me, leaning up against the cab of the truck. His arms were crossed over his chest and his legs were crossed at the ankles. He had on a white, sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of beige short that reached half-way down his thighs. They weren't tight, but the way he was standing pushed his crotch forward and there was that bulge again. It would probably take a circus tent to hide it completely.

He was smiling at me. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"Yeah, well, sue me," I grumbled as I approached. Brad stood up, grabbed the shoulder bag that was lying at his feet, and stepped aside so I could unlock the door. "Don't talk. Coffee," I warned.

I stepped back to see Brad grinning at me. "What in hell are you grinning at?"

"You look like shit."

"I feel like shit!" I said. "Get your ass in the truck and don't talk to me until I've had coffee!"

Brad climbed into the truck and leaned across to unlock the door for me as I walked around to the other side. I settled myself behind the wheel and, as I was doing up my seatbelt, I noticed Brad still looking at me and still grinning. His seatbelt was already in place.

"What!?"

He just grinned wider, his chipped tooth giving his already youthful face a more innocent, boyish look. "You must be a real treat to wake up beside in the morning."

"Not that you'll ever have the chance to find out," I growled at him. I shoved the key in the ignition, cranked up the engine, and backed out of the driveway. Mentally, I prepared the shortest route to the nearest Tim Horton's. Five minutes and a few blocks later, I was pulling into the drive-thru. "You drink coffee?"

"Sure," he said as he leaned forward to pull the wallet out of his pants pocket.

"Put that away," I said. "My treat for growling at you. How do you like it?"

"Black with one sugar."

"Want a doughnut?"

"I like their apple fritters."

I pulled up beside the order board and rolled down the window.

"Welcome to Tim Horton's. May I take your order, please?"

"Can I get two of those thermal mugs and fill one with double-double and one with black, one sugar?"

"Yes, Sir," the girl's voice said over the speaker. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, can I get a half-dozen Bavarian creams and four apple fritters?"

"Okay, hang on." I looked at Brad. "What about crullers?" Brad nodded. To the unseen girl, I said, "Do you have apple crullers?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Four of those, please."

"Anything else, Sir?"

"No, that's fine, thank you." Just the thought of that coffee in my belly made me feel more polite and human.

She told me the final total, then, "Drive ahead, please."

I drove up to the ‘pay' window and was greeted by a pretty lady who had a smile on her face that matched Brad's. I paid her and she handed me the doughnuts. "Your coffees will be ready soon. We're washing the mugs for you."

"Thank you," I replied. "That's very kind."

She disappeared from the window and returned soon with two thermal mugs in her hands. She handed one to me. "This one is black." I took it and handed it to Brad. "This is double-double. Have a good day, Sirs."

I actually smiled at her. "You're getting it off to a good start already. Thank you."

"Thank you, Sir," she blushed. "Please come back again." I had every intention so to do. I propped the mug between my legs, shoved the gearshift into ‘drive', and drove out.

As I watched for a break in the traffic, my finger sought the slide tab of the mug so I could open the sippy hole. I felt Brad's hand and looked down. He had opened the mug for me. "Thanks," I said as I took a nice, eye-opening swig of caffeine. "Could you dig out one of those creams for me? Help yourself to the crullers."

I pulled into the traffic and headed for the Four-Oh-One (the MacDonald-Cartier Freeway for those of you who might want to look it up on a map). Off to my right, I could hear the rustle of paper bags and, a moment later, Brad held out a Bavarian cream doughnut and napkin to me. I took it. "Thanks," I said.

"You're different already."

I glanced at him. He was looking at me. "What do you mean?"

"When you came out of the house, you were a real prick," he explained. "You were funny, but you were a prick. Then, as soon as you stopped to order the coffee, you were all nice and polite and everything. It's like just the thought of the coffee was enough to cheer you up."

I glanced at him again. "I could smell it. There was enough caffeine in the air to kick-start my brain."

Brad laughed out loud. "I'm glad you moved in, Ted," he said as I pulled up to a stoplight. "I'm going to like having you as a friend."

I looked at him and smiled. "I already do."

* * * * *

We talked about nothing in particular as we zipped westward along the Four-Oh-One, just getting to know each other. Brad said he wanted to try his hand at the landscaping. He had worked with a company for two summers and he had a program on his computer which could show me what it would look like. I readily agreed.

I pulled into the Express Lanes on the outskirts of the city and headed for the Don Valley Parkway. Soon, we were off the Four-Oh-One and heading south. Brad was munching on his second apple cruller and I was inhaling my third Bavarian cream. I had finished my coffee a long time ago.

The city looked nice in the early morning. Smoggy, but nice. I still looked forward to my first view of the CN Tower on the lake shore. It was one of my favourite spots in Toronto. I spent a lot of time up there with Lindsay. It didn't scare her a bit. She loved looking down at all the buildings and all the teeny-weeny cars way down below us.

I told Brad about that.

"I've never been up there," Brad said.

I looked at him. "You're kidding!"

"Nope. Never been there," he said. "Haven't been to the ROM or the Science Centre, either."

"Gee-sus Murphy, Brad. Every kid in school hits those places."

"I didn't." There was a sad tone to his voice.

I put on my best Bogart expression and said, "Stick with me, Kid. I'll show ya the ropes."

Brad looked at me and I looked at him. He smiled and I smiled back.

We were heading west along Bloor when Brad suddenly said, "So, did you enjoy the show last night?"

Re: Watching Brad

WATCHING BRAD
Part IV

I was speechless. I stared straight ahead at the cars in front of me and I couldn't say a word. My heart pounded in my chest and my mouth went all cottony. My fingers gripped the steering wheel and my knuckles turned white.

He knew I was there last night, watching him. "So, did you enjoy the show last night?" The question burned itself into my brain over and over again. What in hell was I going to say? That I was a ‘prevert' just like Old Man Perkins? "So, did you enjoy the show last night?" How could I admit to being a Peeping Tom? How could I admit that I had stood there watching him pleasuring himself? How could I look at myself in the mirror again and feel proud of what I had done? "So, did you enjoy the show last night?" Yes, damn it! I did enjoy the show! You want to kill me now, Brad!? You want to pound my sorry ass into oblivion!? You want to have me arrested and tossed into jail with all those other perverts? "So, did you enjoy the show last night?"

But wait! Think, Ted! Think! I took a breath. Okay, Brad knew I was there. He knew I was watching him. He could have done any of those things to me last night, but he didn't. He's sitting right beside me now. Alone. In my friend's truck. The Brad that greeted me this morning was the same Brad who had helped me the day before. He was still the same friendly, joking, happy young man I had just met the day before. Why would he be here with me if he thought of me as a pervert?

I pulled to a stop behind a line of cars, waiting for the light to turn green. I looked at him cautiously. He was just sitting there, watching my face. There was no anger in his eyes. Only a sparkling glint of emerald green.

"So, did you enjoy the show last night?" This time, the question wasn't in my head. I saw Brad's lips moving and knew that he had asked me again.

I stared at him, afraid. He waited. Was that a nod of encouragement, like he telling me it was okay? I wasn't sure, but I took it as one. He knew I had seen him, and I couldn't deny it. "How did you know?" I asked quietly.

He gave me a chipped-tooth grin. "I didn't until you lit up that cigarette." There was no animosity in his voice. "Until then, I had no idea. If you hadn't lit up, I wouldn't have known. How much did you see?"

A horn blew behind me and I looked forward. The lane was empty. I sped through the light and took my proper place in line. "Everything. I was out there for quite awhile, having a beer, a few smokes, and cold pizza before bedtime. The light came on and that's when I saw you drying your hair. You have to believe me, Brad. All I wanted to do was to see you. To see if it was real like you said."

"Guys are doing that all the time," Brad said, his voice soft and lilting. "They follow me into the bathrooms and stand beside me when I take a leak. They must think I roll up my socks and stuff them in my underwear or something."

I'm sure I blushed. I raised my hand and pointed a finger at the roof of the truck. "Guilty as charged," I said.

Brad snickered. "So. You were saying?"

I shrugged. "I can't remember. What was I saying?"

"Just that you wanted to see if it was real."

"Oh, yeah," I said. "When I saw you drying yourself and I saw your. . . um. . . anyway, my curiosity was satisfied. I finished my beer and picked everything up to go inside and go to bed, but when I looked up again, you were. . . well. . . you know."

Brad snickered again.

"The first time I watched Lindsay at one of her dance recitals, I couldn't take my eyes off her. It was like watching poetry in motion. She was doing something she loved doing. I was hypnotized by her. I think I held my breath the whole time she was dancing. It was like that last night when I saw you. I was watching poetry in motion."

"Thank you," Brad said.

I stole a quick glance at him. He was still watching my face. "I'm not gay, Brad. I'm not some pervert who gets off on watching guys play with themselves. I don't even look at porn. Well, maybe when I was a kid and played around with my friends, but I've never seen anyone else do it since then. I've never had a desire to. But watching you was like listening to Mozart or Beethoven or Tchaikovsky. I just get carried away somewhere else. I don't know why I watched you. It was wrong and I shouldn't have done it and I'm sorry."

I waited for the explosion. It didn't come. Three blocks later, I said, "Look, if you don't want to ride home with me, I understand. I'll pay for your ride home on the subway and the Go and the taxi fare to your place. I brought you here, I'll get you home again."

Brad's voice was almost angelic and it brought a lump to my throat. "You're a good friend, Ted. It took guts to tell me what you just did. I don't care if you watched me. It doesn't bother me." He crooked his left leg and pulled it up onto the seat, turning his body to face me, his bent elbow resting against the headrest. "I'm not an exhibitionist. I mean, I wouldn't whip it out in downtown Toronto or anything like that. I don't go out of my way to get people to watch me. I do it when I'm alone and where it's private. It's not your fault that it's too hot for me to close my curtains."

"But that's just it, Brad. I invaded your privacy."

"Let me ask you something. Did you go out there with the intention of watching me?"

"No," I said.

"Did you climb over the fence and stare through my window?"

"Of course not!"

"Did you really pick everything up and start to leave?"

I whipped my head around to look him square in the eyes. "Yes, I did!"

"Then it was my fault. Not yours." He paused. I turned my attention back to the traffic. "I was the one who left the light on. I was the one who left the curtains open. There wasn't any privacy for you to invade."

I took another deep breath and let it out again.

"I want to ride back with you, Ted," he said calmly. "If I felt threatened by you, or if I was afraid what you might do to me, I wouldn't be here in the first place. I like you, and I want us to be friends."

"So do I," I admitted to him.

"Good," he said. "Now, will you answer my question?"

"I thought I did. You asked a lot of them." And then I suddenly remembered and nodded. "Oh. That one. Yes, Brad, I enjoyed the show."

He placed his hand on my forearm, gave it a friendly squeeze, then patted it twice. "I'm glad you did."

* * * * *

I pulled up in front of the building at Brad's direction. "I'll meet you here," I told him. "If you're still inside, I'll find a place to park and come back here to wait for you."

"Okay," Brad said with a smile. "Drive carefully, Ted."

I nodded. Brad closed the door and I drove away. As I drove, I made a decision. I pulled over to the side of the street a few blocks away, pulled out my cell phone and dialed ‘Information'. A few minutes later, I set out again, smiling broadly and hoping Brad would like his surprise.

Warren's apartment was easy to get to, actually. I'd been there often enough. Always reliable, Warren was home and waiting for me to get there. We exchanged our keys at the door. "Coffee?" he asked.

"Sorry, pal," I said. "Not this time. I've got to go pick up my new neighbour at Ryerson. Checking out some books. He's probably waiting for me to get back already."

"Sure," Warren said. "Oh! Hey! Almost forgot. Hang on," He disappeared into another room and came out carrying three gift-wrapped packages all tied up with pink ribbons and bows. He held them out to me. "These are for Lindsay's birthday. I won't be able to make it this year."

I pushed them back. "Bring them with you when you come up next time."

"I'm not sure when that would be, Ted, and I won't have my niece thinking I forgot her birthday."

"She'd rather you brought them yourself, Warren."

Warren's voice dropped. "Ted, please. Just take them home with you."

I didn't like the sound of that voice. I stepped inside the apartment and pushed the door closed behind me. I took the packages out of his hands and set them on a nearby chair. I turned back to Warren and placed my hands on his shoulders. Something was wrong. I knew it.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, Warren." I watched as tears slowly flowed into Warren's eyes. His lips pulled tight and began to quiver as he tried desperately not to cry. And then he fell against my shoulder and let the tears flow. His body shook as he cried and I wrapped my arms around him and held him close. He cried for a long time.

Finally, his crying stopped enough for him to say, "Oh, God, Ted. I'm so scared."

I led him to the sofa and we sat. I kept one hand on his shoulder, just to let him know I was still there. "What is it, Warren?" He remained silent as he wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Warren grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table, blew his nose into it, and set it aside. He grabbed another and wiped at his eyes again. Finally he looked at me. "I need heart surgery, Ted."

"Oh, God!" I said. "Oh, God, Warren!" I pulled him into my arms again and he cried again. This time I joined him.

* * * * *

"Something didn't feel right," he was telling me after the tears had stopped. "My doctor did all sorts of tests and sent me to a cardiac specialist. He phoned me with the results yesterday just before I was going to eat dinner. He told me I've already had two heart attacks and I didn't even know it."

"Yes, you are, Warren," I told him emphatically. "Lindsay has two real aunts and uncles living in Oshawa, Warren. They couldn't even drive for ten minutes to see her dance recitals. You haven't missed a single one. She adores you. You have to get through this for her sake, if not for your own. If not for mine."

Warren nodded and forced a smile, but it faded quickly. "I don't want to die, Ted."

"Then you won't. I've known you since we were five, Warren. You've always been my best friend. You fought your way through all the bullies and name-callers and you beat them. You wouldn't let them beat you. You're not going to give up now. What are your chances?"

"Fifty-fifty."

"Then we'll find a way to up the odds," I told him. "You're going to do everything the doctors tell you to. You're going to get stronger and beat this. You can win, Warren. I know you. You don't give up. Please don't give up now."

Warren smiled again, and this time it remained there.

I smiled back at him. "Look. The Bitch and I went to see a counsellor before we got the divorce. She's good. I'll talk to her and explain what's going on and ask her for recommendations for someone you can talk to here or in Toronto. She has friends who deal with this kind of stuff all the time. If you were closer, I'd send you to her. These can help you deal with this. You're not alone, Warren. You don't have to do this alone."

Again, Warren nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

We talked, then, for almost an hour. Finally, Warren said, "You'd better get going. Your friend will be thinking you drove yourself off an overpass or something."

I glanced at my watch. "Oh, geez," I said as I rose to my feet. "I'll call you, Warren. If you need anything - money, a friend to talk to, anything - you let me know." Warren rose with me.

"I will, Ted," he said. "I promise." His eyes searched mine, and then he put his hands on my arms and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "I would have made you a good wife, Ted. And you would have made a wonderful husband to me. We would have been happy together."

I gave him my best smile. "I'm sure we would have."

He grinned back. "Too bad that ‘straight' thing got in your way."

"Yeah, well." I gave Warren a final hug.

"Give Lindsay a kiss for me?"

"You bet. And remember. Anything. You got it?"

Warren nodded. "Now, go. I'll see you later."

I turned and moved to the packages.

"Ted?" I turned back. "I. . . um. . ."

"I know," I said sadly. I wished then that it could have been different between us. Ted was one of the best people I knew. But destiny decreed that it should be otherwise.

"Thanks," he said.

And then I left, wondering if I would ever see him again.

When I reached my car, I put the packages in the trunk and climbed behind the wheel. As bad as I was feeling, someone else was depending on me as well, and I had to get on with my own life. I pulled my cell phone out again and hit ‘redial'.

* * * * *

Brad was sitting on the grass when I pulled up. His shoulder bag lay beside him and his legs were crossed Indian-style. A huge tome lay open in his lap as he flipped through the pages. I beeped the horn and waved at him when he looked up. He saw me, waved back, and quickly packed the book into his bag before hitching it over his shoulder. He stood and ran across the grass toward me. I chided myself silently when I realized that I was watching that incredible bulge of his shifting from side to side. And then I remembered that the one person I knew who would appreciate Brad most might be dead in a few months and I turned to look out the front window.

The door opened and Brad tossed his bag into the back before climbing into his seat and closing the door. As he snapped his seatbelt into place, he said, "Hi. I thought you got lost or some. . ." He stopped. "Ted? Are you okay?" His voice was deeply concerned.

I looked at him. "I'm okay. Just a little sad news about my friend. He needs surgery. It's pretty serious."

Brad unsnapped his seatbelt again and opened the door. "I can get back home. I think he needs you to be there for awhile."

My hand snapped out and grasped his thigh. "No!" I looked at my hand and snatched it away quickly. "Um, sorry. No, I'll take you home. Warren was the one who reminded me that you were waiting for me. Besides, he's gone to his parents' home by now. He's going to stay there until this is over."

"You sure? I don't mind. I've got my passes and I have money for a cab."

Re: Watching Brad

Before long, we were parked and heading toward the CN Tower. Brad had moved his shoulder bag into the trunk where it would be more safe and away from prying eyes.

"We're going up there?" he asked, his head tilted way back as he looked up at the tower.

"Yup. Just remember where we parked," I told him. "I can't even remember if I remembered to put on underwear this morning."

Brad laughed. When I think back on it now, there was a tinge of anxiety in his laugh, but I didn't pay any attention to it. I paid the admission and we entered the elevator. We ended up near the front, facing the glass doors. The elevator started to zip upwards. I could see Brad looking out the doors, watching as the ground drew farther and farther away at an increasingly-rapid rate. He suddenly grabbed my arm and squeezed.

"I don't like this, Ted," he said softly, and and then his hand desperately grabbed for my own hand. He found it and squeezed hard. "Ted?"

"Look up, Brad," I said urgently. "Watch the horizon." It wasn't working. His eyes were locked on the receding Earth. His hand squeezed harder.

I didn't care about the people around me. I knew what Brad was going through. I'd been through it all before. It had never even crossed my mind that he might be afraid of heights. "Brad! Look at me!" His head turned and his eyes met mine. The colour had drained from his face. "Just look at me, okay? Take a deep breath and keep your eyes on me." He did.

I held his gaze and he held my hand. I squeezed back and he started to relax. Finally, the elevator slowed and came to a stop. The doors opened and people pushed their way around us. I smiled at him. "We've stopped. Can I have my hand back now?" Brad looked down at his hand and quickly released it.

I glanced at the elevator attendant. She was smiling. "First time?" she asked.

"Yup," I replied and exited the elevator as the next load of visitors began to fill it up again for the trip down. Brad followed me.

"God, I feel so stupid," he said quietly when we stopped near the centre, circular wall, out of the way of the visitor traffic.

"Don't sweat it," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "It happens to the best of us." I chuckled. "At least you're not green like that guy over there." I nodded behind him and to the left.

Brad looked over and said, "Whoa." He looked back at me. "I thought I was going to puke."

"I know."

"Sorry about the hand. I didn't even know I was holding it."

"I know that, too. Are you okay now?"

"Yeah. Um. . ." Brad glanced around and then leaned closer as he whispered. "Um. . . I don't handle heights very well. Will you stay close enough for me to touch you? I need to know you're there with me."

"I didn't know, Brad, or I wouldn't have brought you up here. We can go back down if you want."

"No, it's okay. If you're here, I know it's safe. I just need to know you're here with me."

"I won't leave your side," I assured him. "I promise." I contemplated cancelling his surprise, but I decided to wait and see how he did in awhile. I just hoped I could keep him occupied for another forty-five minutes.

We began walking around the observation deck, staying as far away from the windows as we could. Brad was like my shadow. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with me and pressed his arm against me whenever we stopped to look out. I hoped I'd be able to get him closer to the windows. The view was amazing, but it's quite a shock for anyone with a fear of heights.

The city of Toronto lay there below us, and it sparkled in the early-afternoon sunlight. I loved it up there. It was one of my favourite spots in Toronto. Lindsay loved it here, too. She had no fear, that girl. She loved standing on the glass floor so she can look straight down. I was certain that was something Brad wouldn't do.

"This is incredible," Brad said. "It's scary, but it's so incredible. How high are we?"

We started forward slowly. Brad's hand took mine again and squeezed. His palm was moist with nervous perspiration and I could feel his tenseness travelling through his fingers into my hand. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked. "I know I won't fall if you're holding me."

"No," I said. "I don't mind at all." People were probably looking at us, but I didn't particularly care. Brad was trusting me to help him get over a fear he'd undoubtedly had throughout his entire life, and I wasn't about to let a few curious stares stop me from doing it. I glanced around quickly. No-one was paying any attention to us. No-one cared. Not quite what I had expected.

We drew nearer the rail, the city opening up through the windows before us. Brad froze, reached out his other hand, and grabbed hold of the rail. I waited. Slowly, he crept forward, released my hand, and grasped the rail with that hand, too. I put my hand on his shoulder to let him know I was still there.

"Wow!" he said, his voice full of nervous excitement. He looked around at the city, but I noticed that he was concentrating on the far-away bits.

I located Ryerson. I pointed down. "There's Ryerson."

Brad followed my pointing finger and I could see his fingers gripping the rail in a white-knuckle grip. The city was a long way down. "Ted." His voice was urgent. "Ted!" he repeated with more urgency.

I grabbed his left hand with my own left hand, moving my other hand to his right shoulder. "Come on. I think that's enough for now." I lead him away from the windows. Brad was rather shaky on his legs. I could feel his body quivering beneath my hand. I got him back to the centre walls and leaned him against it. "Just breath slowly. I'm right here."

Brad took a few deep breaths. "Do I look as stupid as I feel?"

"Probably," I joked. "I suppose going up to the top level and walking outside on the roof would be out of the question, eh?"

I grinned widely at him as I checked my watch. Just about time. "Come on," I said. "There's one more thing I want you to see. If you like it, we'll stay. If you don't we'll leave."

"Do I have to look down again?"

"Not if you don't want to."

Brad was apprehensive, but he followed me. Soon we were standing in the 360 Restaurant and being greeted by a young man dressed in black slacks, white shirt, and a neat bow tie around his neck. Two menus were balanced on his arm. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," the young man said. "My name is Keith. Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes," I said, "for de Villiers."

"Yes, Sir," Keith said. His smile was inviting and friendly. "I've been expecting you. Right this way, please."

He lead us to a small table for two near the windows. The young man directed us to our chairs and I held up one finger, indicating to wait a moment. "Do you think you can eat here, Brad?" I asked.

He glanced at me. "I think so. It's like looking at a mural," Brad said as he looked outside.

I nodded to the young man and sat. Brad took his seat across from me, and Keith handed us our menus. "Enjoy your meal, gentlemen." And then he left.

"It's not like the other place." Brad said. "This doesn't scare me. "

Brad opened the menu. His eyes grew wider and his mouth dropped. "Gee-sus Murphy," he whispered loudly.

I was flattered that Brad had borrowed my favourite expression. I laughed. "What?"

He glanced to his right, looking to see if anyone could hear him, then he looked at me and whispered, "Have you seen these prices?"

"Yes," I said, still laughing. "I've eaten here before. But shipping is included." I shook my head in amusement. "So, what would you like to eat?"

Brad looked back at the menu. "I was going to have a cheeseburger, but. . . . What do they do? Feed the cows diamond dust?"

I laughed. "If I couldn't afford it, I wouldn't have brought you here. A cheeseburger sounds good. I think I'll have one, too."

The waitress appeared. A pretty young lady with the name ‘Darlene' embossed on her name tag. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said with a large smile. "My name is Darlene. May I get you something to drink?"

"Two Blues, please, and two cheeseburger platters."

"Yes, Sir," she replied and turned to Brad, who was already pulling the wallet out of his back pocket and retrieving his ID.

"Thank you," Darlene said after she examined his driver's license. She disappeared and soon returned with the beers already poured into two frosty glasses.

"de Villiers," Brad said. "Is that French?"

"South-African, actually," I said.

Brad's eyebrows sprang up on his forehead. "Really? Are you from South Africa?"

"No, but my grandparents were."

"Cool," he said. Then, raising his glass, he toasted, "Here's to grandparents from South Africa."

I clinked his glass and we drank to his toast and to my grandparents.

We talked, ate our cheeseburgers, and followed it up with apple pie and ice cream.

"Hey!" Brad exclaimed as he was looking out the window. "Wasn't that building over there before?"

"The restaurant's rotating," I explained.

"Oh," he said. "Cool."

And then we were on our way home. Brad did better in the elevator on the way down. He just concentrated on me instead of what was happening outside the glass doors. He didn't have to hold my hand that time.

* * * * *

"Do you think you'll ever get married again?" Brad asked as we drove home.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe, if the right woman comes along. But, right now, I'm not even looking. I have another priority."

"Lindsay."

"Yeah. She's dying to come sleep in her new house," I said with a smile. "Which reminds me. I have to phone her today to see if she's decided on a paint colour and wallpaper for her room. I want to get the painters and paper hangers in next week to get it done for her."

"I can do it," Brad suggested.

I looked at him. "You have experience in that, too?"

"Sure. Dad and I have painted the house enough times, and Mom changes the wallpaper in their bedroom and in the dining room almost every year. She might have to help me with the papering, but I can do the painting by myself."

"No offense, Brad, but are you good enough?"

"None taken," he smiled. "Come over sometime and see for yourself tomorrow after work."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I said. "But I'm not working tomorrow. I took a few days off for the move. I can drop over anytime."

"Cool."

We chatted about Lindsay for awhile, and then, just before we got to Pickering, Brad asked the question.

"Ted," he said, "what does real sex feel like?"

"What do you mean, ‘real sex'?"

"You know," he replied. "Making love to someone. Real sex."

"You mean you don't know?"

"No," he said. There was a hint of shame and embarrassment in his voice.

"I find that hard to believe, Brad," I said. "With what you've got stuffed in your pants, you should have people crawling all over you."

"Oh, they do," he said, "but they're the wrong kind of people and I stay away from them. They're only interested in what's in my pants. They're not interested in me. I've had lots of people proposition me, but that's not what I want. It would make me feel dirty. I want someone who likes me, not just my dick. I mean, I can't help what God gave me. I'm stuck with it. I have to live with it. But, if I had a choice, I would have picked something a lot more normal. At least I'd know people liked me for myself."

Brad was looking down at the floor between his feet. I got the feeling he was telling me things he'd rarely told anyone else and that he wanted - no, ‘needed' - to talk about it. Why he chose me, I don't know. But, after nine years with Lindsay, I knew how important it was to listen when someone needed to talk, so I remained silent and let Brad go wherever he had to go.

"You probably wish you had a dick as big as mine, Ted, but I'm telling you. It's not worth it." Brad paused a moment, still looking down at his feet. "When I was in high school, there was a girl I liked. I liked her a lot, and I thought she really liked me. We took math classes together. We went places a few times. Nothing serious. No dates or anything. Just to movies, to lunch, you know. One day I asked her out on a real date. We were at the zoo and I told her I wanted to take her out for dinner, maybe a movie, whatever. Just a real date. She took me to a bench and we sat down and she took my hand between both of her hands. She was really nice about it, but what she said to me. . ."

He paused and wiped at his eye with the back of his finger. "She said. . . she said that. . . I scared the hell out of her. She said she was afraid I'd rip her apart."

I saw him look at me out of the corner of my eye, probably to check my reaction. I sucked in a deep breath. What in hell was I supposed to say to a statement like that? I couldn't even imagine how I would react if someone told me something like that, but I could hear it in Brad's voice. It hurt him. Bad.

I tried to put myself in Brad's shoes. I remembered thinking what I would give to be hung like him, and now he was telling me how miserable it made him feel - how much of a handicap it was. How it scared the hell out of people. I thought back to the moment I had first seen him masturbating. He had both his hands wrapped around it, one above the other, and there was still room for another hand. And it was huge. Thick. Who could really handle something as big as that? Sluts and size queens. All the wrong people.

Brad could easily have those people buying tickets just to have a go at him, at his cock, but he was looking for a lot more. That was plain to see. He was obviously looking for someone to love. Someone to love him. Not just some one-night stand. He could have those anytime he wanted. . . if he wanted them.

My heart went out to him. Here I had thought he was the luckiest young man on Earth only to find out he was one of the saddest. Nineteen years old, hung like an elephant, and he was still a virgin. Hell, I lost mine when I was thirteen. Brad was in the prime of his life and all he could do was jerk off. I wanted to cry for him.

I could hear him suck in a deep breath, and I could see him return his gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Ted," he said. "I was having the best day of my life and then I drop this on you. I'm sorry. I'll shut up now."

I pulled off at the next exit and drove to the nearest Tim Horton's. I found a space to park and told Brad to wait. I grabbed up our thermal mugs and headed inside. The girl behind the counter rinsed out the mugs, filled them with coffee as ordered, and gathered the six apple fritters and the box of Timbits I asked for. I paid and went back out to the car and climbed in.

"I forgot which mug belonged to whom," I said. "She just rinsed them out and filled them."

"I don't mind," he said as he accepted the mug I held out to him. "Thanks."

"I just wanted you to know in case you had a thing about drinking from someone else's mug."

Brad smiled finally. "I'm usually careful about that, but this doesn't bother me."

"It should," I reminded him. "You don't know anything about me. I could have Hepatitis, or something."

"I know you well enough to know that you'd tell me if you did."

I nodded, then handed him the bag of fritters and opened the box of Timbits, setting it on the centre console.

"Oooo!" Brad exclaimed when he opened the bag. "I love these things!" He pulled one out of the bag and bit off a huge chunk. I munched on the Timbits and sipped my coffee as Brad devoured two of the fritters.

Minutes later, he folded the bag closed and set it aside. He patted his belly and burped. Then he opened his door and stepped out. "Toidy break," he said. "Be right back."

He disappeared inside and I climbed out to lean against my car and have a cigarette. I'd barely got four puffs before he came back out. I dropped the cigarette to the ground and squished it into powder with my foot.

"You didn't have to do that," he said. "Go ahead and have another one."

"That's okay. I've had enough to get me home." I started to turn to the car door, but Brad stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. He calmly reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out the package and lighter. A moment later, he was sticking the filter end of a cigarette between my lips and holding the lighter at the other end.

"There," he said. "Now, smoke it." He started to close the package, then asked, "Can I have one?"

"No."

"Why not? I'm old enough."

"Have you ever smoked before?"

"No."

"And you're not going to start now." I grabbed the package out of his hand, closed it, and tucked it into my shirt pocket.

He handed me the lighter. I took it from him. He leaned his butt against the side of the car, crossed his ankles and folded his arms over his chest. "Why did you divorce your wife?"

"Huh," I grunted. "Good question. She divorced me, actually. I couldn't give her what she wanted."

"What was that?"

"A big mansion on a hill. Live-in maid service. A pool boy named Raul with a hairy chest and tight, yellow Speedos. Diamond rings and gold necklaces. A Rolls Royce with a blond chauffeur named Colin who speaks with a Scottish accent." I chuckled. "The best thing I gave her was Lindsay, and that wasn't enough for her. The only reason she has her is for the child support."

"But you said you have joint custody."

"She had a good lawyer." I chuckled. "She gets child support. But, I've got a good lawyer now, too. He's working with me to help me get permanent custody. That's why I bought the house. It's a lot cheaper to keep than the old house and I can save my money so I can get her back. As it is, The Bitch uses most of the child support to pay for babysitters. They live in an apartment and she's too busy running around looking for her Donald Trump to worry about her own daughter."

"Why do you call her ‘The Bitch'?"

I laughed out loud. "Because that's her name."

Brad nodded knowingly. "I'll do an extra-special job on her bedroom, Ted. I want to help you get Lindsay back."

"I'm sure you will," I said, and we fell silent as I took another drag off my smoke. Then I said, "I'm having one of the best days of my life, too."

"What?"

"You said awhile ago that you were having a fun day," I reminded him. "I am, too."

"Oh," he said. "Do you think it's wrong? I mean, two guys spending so much time together when we hardly even know each other."

"I don't have a problem with it," I said honestly. "I enjoy your company. You're a nice guy."

"So are you," he said, "and that's the problem. Aren't you afraid of what people are going to think?"

"What are they going to think?"

"That we're a couple or something. I mean, I'm young and you're old." And he realized what he had said. "Oh, God, Ted! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that!"

I laughed out loud. "I know what you meant, and I don't have a problem with what people think. Do you?"

Brad shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, I was more worried for you when I grabbed your hand in the CN Tower. I was afraid of what other people would think about you." I noticed that he hadn't mentioned his concern for himself. He looked at me. "Thanks for that, by the way. I've always wanted to go up there, but I was too scared. I don't think I could have done it without you there. I think I could do just about anything now if you were with me."

I laughed again. "If I didn't know better, Brad," I joked, "I'd think you were falling in love with me."

Brad looked down at the black pavement of the parking lot and pulled his arms tighter to his chest. His response wasn't a joke, and it was barely a whisper. "I've never been in love before. I think might be."

Re: Watching Brad

Thanks again. I've almost got the next part finished and I just started it this morning. If it's okay when I proof it later, I'll post it tomorrow.

I think the reason I'm writing it so fast is because I want to see what happens myself! It's one of those stories that writes itself. I have no idea where it's going or what's going to happen. I just start typing and the story appears on the screen and each word leads to the next and each sentence spawns the next.

It's a strange way of writing, I know, but life doesn't happen in predetermined 'point form'. It just happens. That's the way this story is going, and what happens next is going to be just as much a surprise to me as it is to you. I just hope I don't disappoint myself. . . or you, either.

Re: Watching Brad

Neil,

I am really excited with this story. There is so much involved other than sex and it is really refreshing. The hints and dialog about sex add that zest, but for the most part the forming relationship is what is important at this time.

I'm glad the story takes it's own direction as you type. Much more feeling of reality. Like and_rew said: " When we read your stories it's like reading a movie, i could play them in my head." I look forward to each new chapter.

Re: Watching Brad

"Whoa!", indeed!!

I also have a "thing" about heights! And you caught it just about right! I could feel my Heart rising up through my throat, and then "whooshing" back down to my feet! But ... darn it! ... one of these days I'm going to "Do" the CN Tower! (Or, rather, have it "Do" me!)

Re: Watching Brad

Thanks again, everyone. I wrote Part VI today. I'll proof it in the morning and post it.

As for the 'Canadian Content', and_rew, I needed specifics with this one. I knew Brad was in university, and I knew it would be needed. I had to pick a university I knew and the areas around it, so I picked Ryerson. I'm glad I did. It let me bring in the CN Tower, which proved (and will prove in the next Part) a very valuable location and adventure.

I just hope there's a Tim Horton's off the 401 in Pickering. They're everywhere, so I think it's a pretty safe bet.

Re: Watching Brad

(FYI - a 'two-four' is a case of 24 bottles of beer. And thanks to gotenkst5 for the 'Timbits' link. I didn't even think about that.)

WATCHING BRAD
Part VI

There was no smile on my face anymore. I wasn't laughing anymore. I was standing beside a young man who thought he might be falling in love with me. Why, I couldn't imagine. I mean, look at me. I'm no slouch, but I'm not something you want to take home to meet the family. Hell, I lost my virginity the same year Brad was born! I was old. I was ancient. I was Gilbert Gottfried to his Chris O'Donnell.

He thought he was falling in love with me. Shit! What in hell do I do now? Being Brad's friend was one thing. Setting up house and buying curtains with him was another. Gee-sus Murphy! I wasn't even gay! Sure, I had been fascinated by his prick, but it wasn't like I wanted to jump his bones or anything. And, frankly, the thought of it turned my stomach. I mean, Jackson Pollack did some nice work, and I didn't mind looking at it, but I wouldn't want something he did hanging over my fireplace mantle. Just because Brad was a nice young man, and not at all unpleasant to look at, he wasn't someone I wanted to wake up beside every morning, let alone have sex with.

But, shit. I liked him. And not for all that meat stuffed in his jeans. I liked him because he was a good person - a nice young man. I didn't ask him for help yesterday. He just gave it to me. He grabbed that dresser and he helped me. Good people do things like that. And he made that ‘fatherly' thing of mine kick in. Back there in the Tower, he was scared shitless. He grabbed my hand like Lindsay always does. He found strength in me. He looked to me to keep him safe. But, shit! That's not love!

His voice drilled into my thoughts. "I'm sorry, Ted," he said. "If you could open your trunk for me, I'll get my bag. I can make it home from here."

I looked over at him. He was standing up now, facing me. He looked beaten. He looked small. He looked like a little boy who had just been told that Santa Claus wasn't coming this year.

"Get in the car, Brad," I said.

"Please, Ted," he begged, "just let me get my bag out of your trunk and I'll leave you alone."

"Get in the car," I repeated, more slowly this time.

Brad didn't move.

I flicked the butt away, stood up and turned to face him. I exploded. "Damn it, Brad! Get in the Goddamned car!"

Brad jumped and went rigid. A look of terror flooded his face. His eyes opened wide, the sparkling green surrounded by a sea of white. His left hand reached out and found the front fender of my car, and then he began to back away, his eyes locked on mine. When he reached the front, he moved sideways to the left, his fingertips guiding his way along the front of the car, and he walked around to the door and got in.

I stood there for a minute or two, gathering my thoughts and my breath. I wasn't handling this very well. No, it was worse than that. I had screwed up royally! I had yelled at him. He was a grown man and I had treated him like a little boy.

‘Daddy' mode kicked in then and I began to think of how I would handle this situation if it were Lindsay. I knew what I had done with her, and it seemed to work okay. All I could do was to try it with Brad and see if it would work for him as well.

I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a long moment before letting it out again. Then I sucked in another one for good measure. When I was ready, I opened the car door and climbed inside. Brad was sitting there, already buckled in. His head was tilted down, looking at the hands in his lap. The fingernails of one hand were nervously picking at the fingernails of the other.

I turned in my seat as best I could, reached out my right hand, and placed it squarely on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Brad," I said in my best, apologetic voice. "I yelled at you and that was the wrong thing to do."

Brad sat there for a moment, and then his head turned to look at me, still tilted to one side. His sideways gaze bore into me. "Don't patronize me, Ted," he sneered. "I'm a man. I'm not a little boy."

Still, he stared into my eyes. I nodded once. He had seen right through me. I sat back and pulled my hand away from his shoulder.

"You're right," I said.‘Daddy' mode kicked out and ‘friend' mode kicked in. And then I repeated as I nodded my head. "You're right." I held out my flat hand to him, the palm facing sideways. "I'm sorry, Brad. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Brad's head straightened and the sneer disappeared. He looked at my hand for a long time and then he reached out his right hand and shook it in a firm grasp before releasing it. His hand returned to his lap.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No. Not right now," he said quietly. "I didn't even know I was feeling anything until I said it. I have to figure it out in my own head, first. But I think I want to talk about it later. Is that okay?"

I nodded my head and smiled. "Sure. Just let me know." I buckled up, pushed the key into the ignition, and started the engine.

"Ted?"

I looked at Brad.

"Do you hate me?"

My smile grew larger and I shook my head. "No, Brad, I don't."

I really didn't hate him. I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't hate him. I think he saw that somewhere in my eyes. The corners of his lips slowly pulled up, and then his eyes began to sparkle again. His lips parted as the smile grew and his chipped tooth appeared.

* * * * *

Brad grabbed his shoulder bag out of the trunk. He was carrying the remaining Timbits and fritters. I picked up the two-four of beer and closed the trunk.

"Do you still want me to help with the unpacking?" Brad asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, but I was kind of hoping for some help moving the furniture around."

"Sure," he said. "Look, um, Mom and Dad are home. Why don't you come over to meet them and Mom can show you the paint and paper. If you still want to hire me to do it. Besides, I want to change into something cooler anyway."

"Sure, if you still want to work for me, but I've got to take a leak."

"We've got a bathroom," he giggled.

"Okay, then," I said. "Lead the way. Oh, maybe we should leave this stuff here," I said as we passed my front door.

"Might as well take the doughnuts. Mom will make you stay for coffee anyway."

"Just a sec, then." I unlocked the door and opened it, set the case of beer inside, then closed and locked it again. I followed Brad across the lawn and into his home.

"Mom? Dad?" he yelled as we entered and closed the door behind us.

"Kitchen, dear!" a woman' voice called back.

Brad glanced at me and started walking. I followed again. We entered the kitchen and he dropped his shoulder bag onto the floor near the cupboards. His parents, sitting at the small kitchen table, rose to their feet when they saw me. They were older than I had expected. I figured, with Brad being an only child and nineteen, his parents would be in their forties. They were closer to their sixties, if not in them.

"Oh, Bradley," the woman said as she quickly smoothed out her apron and skirt and pushed at her hair with the palm of her hand. Brad set the doughnuts on the table. "You should have told me you were bringing company. I must look a mess."

"You look beautiful, Mom," Brad said, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Mom? Dad? This is Ted de Villiers. He bought the Perkins place. Ted? My Mom, Bernice, and my Dad, John."

Greetings and welcomes and handshakes were exchanged. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please," I said, "but first, um. . ."

"Oh, yeah," Brad said. He grabbed up his bag. "Bathroom's this way," he said. To his mother, he said, "We'll be right back. I'm going to change."

I followed him down the hall to the bathroom and entered. He continued on down the hall to his bedroom.

The piss felt good. I should have gone back in Pickering, but. . . well, you know already. Anyway, I was still letting it fly when I heard Brad's voice.

"Mom, where's my shorts?"

"In the dryer, dear," his mother called back. "I'll get them for you!"

I finished, flushed, washed my hands and dried them, then found my way back to the kitchen. Two extra mugs of coffee sat on the table now, along with a plate containing the Timbits, fritters, and an assortment of Peek Freans cookies.

Bernice indicated a chair and I took it. I began preparing my coffee.

"So, Ted, will your family be moving in with you?" That was from John.

"My daughter, Lindsay, I hope," I replied cordially. "She's living with her mother right now, but I'm trying to get custody."

"Undoubtedly for the best. How old is she?" That was from Bernice. At the word ‘custody', she must have realized that there was a good possibility that ours had been a messy divorce - which it was - and that I might not want to talk about it. She was right.

"She's nine," I said. Anticipating her next question, because other mothers always ask, I pulled out my wallet and let the stream of photos cascade into a long row. I handed it to Bernice.

"Oh, my, isn't she just the little angel! You must be so proud of her."

"Yes, I am."

"Is this one from a dance recital or something?"

"Yes."

Bernice looked up at me. "Could you tell me when the next recital is? I'd love to go see it."

"Sure," I said. "They hold the main one once a year, but they have mini-recitals all the time. They're just about due for one. I'll let you know when it is."

"Oh, good," Brad said as he entered the kitchen. "You left me a fritter." He was dressed in his cut-offs again, and that mountain of a crotch led the way. He wore a tight, white T-shirt with short sleeves. Emblazoned on the chest, in large, dark blue, metalic letters, were the words, "Kiss Me. I'm Beautiful." He took his chair and grabbed up a fritter.

"Bradley, dear," his mother said. "Couldn't you wear another T-shirt?"

Brad placed his free hand on his chest and looked down. "What's wrong with this? Aren't I beautiful?"

"Of course you are, Bradley, but I bought that for you as a joke," she said. It sounded like she was quite embarrassed. "It looks as if you're advertising."

I had to smile to myself. Here was Brad, showing off Mount Everest between his legs, and his mother was worried about the saying on his T-shirt. Brad looked at me and said, "Mothers. What can you do, eh?"

I laughed. "I think I'm going to enjoy living here," I said.

"Oh, I hope so," Bernice said. "You're much nicer than Mr. Perkins. He gave Bradley such a hard time."

"So I've heard," I said. She had no idea how loaded those words were.

"Mom? When we're done, can you show Ted around to look at the painting and papering? He wants to hire me to do his daughter's bedroom. There's some landscaping he wants help with, too."

"Of course, Bradley," she said eagerly, "but do you think you can handle the papering?"

"Well, I was kinda hoping you'd help me with that."

She patted Brad's hand. "I'd be happy to, dear."

"How much is he paying you?" John asked.

"Three dollars an hour plus all the pizza and beer I want."

"Too much," his father said.

"I can afford it," I said.

"Too much, Bradley," his father continued, ignoring me. "I'll give in to the pizza, but if you want beer, you buy it yourself, you hear?"

"Dad!"

John looked at me. "Pizza. No beer. My son is no mooch."

I realized John wasn't being mean. He was being reasonable.

I nodded finally. "Agreed. He helps to buy the beer."

"He doesn't help. He buys it or he doesn't drink it."

"Dad," Brad complained, "I'm doing this to help you pay for my school. If I spend it all on. . ."

"Bradley Nelson Hayes," his father said. I knew Brad was in trouble when all three names were used in the same sentence. "We have never denied you a penny when it comes to school, and we never will. Your education is our concern, not yours."

"But Ted made the deal, not me."

"And you should be ashamed of yourself for accepting it." John's voice was surprisingly calm, yet intimidating. "We raised you better than that, Bradley. Food you need. Beer you don't. Either you buy your own beer or the whole deal's off."

"Your Father's right, Bradley," Bernice said, laying her hand on her son's forearm. "I have to agree with him on this one. You mustn't take advantage of Mr. de Villiers like that." She pulled her hand away again.

Brad looked at me and shrugged. "Okay, Ted, no beer. Deal?" he asked.

"Deal," I said, and we shook hands on it.

We chatted then. Drank our coffees and ate our treats. Afterwards, John Hayes cleared up the table as Bernice and Brad took me on a tour of their house. The paint jobs were professional quality, and Bernice was, indeed, an excellent wallpaper hanger. I had no qualms about letting Brad do Lindsay's bedroom.

* * * * *

Who knew that unpacking could be so much work? I was getting exhausted just trying to keep up to Brad. Within an hour of returning to my place, he'd kicked off his shoes and stripped off his T-shirt. He was a whirlwind of activity, moving boxes and furniture without complaint and seemingly without effort. But, even with the air conditioning, his body was soon covered with a light sheen of sweat. By the time the pizza arrived at nine o'clock, we both flopped down on the sofa to eat it, anxious for a bit of comfort and relaxation. We ate our pizza and drank my beer.

"For a single guy, you've got a whole lot of shit," Brad joked. He glanced around the room. "But it's nice shit."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Bradley Nelson Hayes."

Brad shivered and looked at me. "What kind of mother names her son ‘Bradley Nelson'!"

"One of the best mothers I've ever met," I said. Brad actually blushed. "They might not have done a good job with the name, Brad, but they've done a bang-up job with you. If I ever have a son, I would want him to be just like you."

"You really mean that?"

"Every single word."

Brad looked at me. He just sat there and stared. He didn't even blink. His lips parted and I could see his chipped tooth. He closed his lips again. And then he started to lean forward. Slowly. His head tilted slightly and I realized he was going to kiss me on the cheek. He was close. I could feel the breath from his nostrils brushing against my skin. Then he stopped.

He pulled away quickly, stood up, and walked to the bathroom. I could hear him pissing, then flushing and washing his hands. When he came out again, he sat on the sofa where he'd been sitting before. He stretched out, his ankles crossed. He was looking at the carpet beyond his feet.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. "I think I need to talk to you now, Ted."

"Okay," I said.

He glanced down his body - at his shorts. He probably saw the mound I saw. To me, it looked like it was bigger. He sat up straight, grabbed his T-shirt and crumpled it into a loose bundle, and placed it over his crotch. He put his hands in his lap, hiding himself even more.

"You don't have to hide it, Brad."

"Yes, I do."

"Okay," I said softly. I waited for him to speak, but nothing came out. Maybe he's waiting for me, I thought.

"I'm not gay, Brad," I said.

"I know."

"Are you?"

Brad shrugged. He was still looking down at the carpet. "I don't know. I don't think I'm anything."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand what you mean."

He looked at me. "Neither do I."

A young man in search of himself, and he had no idea what he was looking for - or where to find it. He wasn't even sure if there was anything to find. And I didn't know how to help him look. I wished Warren was here. He would know. What questions would Warren ask? I had no idea. I was on my own.

"You've only known me for one day, Brad," I said. "What makes you think you might be falling in love with me?"

"I don't know if I am," he answered. "I only know how I felt after I met you."

"Okay, how did you feel? Maybe we can figure it out together."

Brad was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "Ted? Could you look away for a minute, please?"

"Take your time," I said. "Toidy break." I got up from the sofa and went to the bathroom. I took a leak, flushed and washed up. I opened the door and stood there. "Okay to come out now?"

"Yeah," he shouted back.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I went out there. Would he be sitting there naked? Would he be jerking off again? Would he be dressed? I didn't know. I tried to prepare myself for anything.

Brad was sitting as I had left him, but he had rearranged his T-shirt. He was now covered from crotch to his pecs. His left arm lay across his groin, covering his balls. His right lay across his abdomen. It was obvious what he was hiding.

"Sorry," he said. "It just happened. It was starting to hurt."

"I. . . um. . .," I stammered as I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "I can go back for awhile if you need to take care of it."

"Then that's what we'll do." I sat down, crooking my right leg onto the sofa and tossing my right arm along the back so I could face him. "So," I said, "you were going to tell me how you felt."

He nodded and looked at me. "I'm not sure, Ted," he began. "I just feel. . . different. I liked you right away. You were nice, and I liked talking to you. You made me feel comfortable. You looked at me the way everybody does when they see me the first time, but then you didn't look anymore. At least not much. You looked at me. You talked to me. And you didn't touch me."

"I touched you," I said. "We bumped each other lots of times."

"That's not what I mean. You looked at my crotch like everybody does, but you asked me if it was real. Other people usually just reach out and grab hold of it. They don't ask me or anything. They just grab hold, like they think I'll enjoy it or something. Like they have the right to molest me like that."

"And you don't enjoy it?"

"No. Not when they do it like they squeeze tomatoes in the grocery store. I'm not a meat market. I'm not something that people can just poke at because they want to check out the merchandise. There's a ‘me' attached to my dick. You didn't do any of that. You asked, and then you treated me like a real person. You treated me like ‘me'."

Brad was on another roll, and I let him go.

"I was scared to death up there in that Tower this afternoon, Ted."

"I know."

"No, you don't," he said seriously. "I hate elevators. I hate heights. I can't even stand on a second-floor balcony and look over the edge. I've never climbed a tree. I've never hung Christmas lights along the eaves trough. I've never been up in a plane. I've never done any of those things that people do all the time." He paused, and I waited. "I think I could do all of them if you were with me. You make me feel safe, like you won't let me fall. You make me feel like you won't let anything hurt me. You make me feel like I'm more important than. . . ." Brad looked down at the T-shirt lying on his lap.

"And you think that's love?"

Brad looked back at me again. "I don't know. If it isn't, it's the most ‘like' I've ever felt before."

I think Warren would have been proud of me. In fact, he was when I told him about it later. "You couldn't have handled it any better for him, Teddy," he told me. "You did the right thing."

"I think I understand, Brad," I said honestly. I really think I understood.

Brad shifted himself on the sofa, but held the T-shirt carefully in place. "I didn't know you were outside when I jerked off last night," he said after he'd made himself comfortable again.

"I know," I said. "You told me."

"But I didn't tell you that I jerked off again," he said. "After I saw you out there. I watched you finish your cigarette and I watched you leave. I turned off my light so I could see better and you weren't there anymore. I sat back down and I jerked off again, and. . ." Brad turned away and stared at the carpet again.

I waited again. "Say it, Brad."

He looked at me, but he remained silent. He held my gaze for a long time before looking back at the floor. His voice was very quiet, as if he was ashamed of what he was saying. "I wanted you to be there with me."

So, there it was. A young man, desperate for acceptance. Wanting nothing more than someone to like him for himself. Like his parents. They weren't concerned with what Brad carried around in his shorts. That was part of being Brad. That was his life. His mother had been more concerned with his T-shirt than the display he couldn't hide. All Brad wanted was someone to be with. Someone who cared about him, and someone he cared about.

And now, here I was, treating him like the man he was rather than the sex machine most people saw him as. I had allowed him to be someone who needed someone by letting him hold my hand in the Tower. I hadn't scolded him, or got angry with him, or treated him like a little boy. I had let him do it because he needed me to do it. In one day, I had become a good enough friend to him to let him be himself. He felt safe around me. He didn't have to be afraid of me or worry about what I might do.

I could see how Brad might think that was falling in love.

But, there was more going on right now. Brad still had an erection. That was obvious. It had been there since I came out of the bathroom. The fact that I had more or less ignored it in favour of talking about his feelings meant something to him. Still, though, it was there, and I think Brad was waiting for me to give him permission. He'd just told me he had wanted me to be there with him. Maybe that's what he was waiting for now.

"Warren? What do I do now?" Warren's voice appeared somewhere in my head. "Do what you think he needs you to do, Teddy." That was Warren. It's no damned wonder he was my best friend. And, somehow, I knew what I thought Brad needed me to do.

"Brad?" He looked at me. "You want to masturbate." I made it a statement rather than a question.

"Yes," he said softly.

"You want to do it now."

"Yes."

"And you want me to watch you do it."

He paused. Swallowed. And then he whispered, "Yes."

I reached out with my left hand and lifted his arm away from his stomach and set it beside him. I moved his other arm from his crotch and put it on the sofa between us. And then I grasped the T- shirt between my thumb and finger and lifted it away, dropping it to the floor. I did all this while looking into Brad's green eyes, studying his face, looking for reactions. His expression never changed until I lifted the T-shirt, and Brad closed his eyes and sighed.

I looked down.

Brad's cock was solid and immense, at least compared to my own. It was lying against his stomach and pointing to the small patch of brown hair between his pecs. Up close and personal and not exaggerated by distance, fascination, or imagination, it was easier for me to judge. His cock didn't look longer than a paper towel tube anymore. It was shorter, maybe by a few centimetres. At a quick guess, I would say it was about, maybe, twenty-three centimetres, or, as Lindsay would say, "about nine, maybe nine and a half inches to old fogies like you, Dad." But it was still thick. If I wrapped my hand around it, I doubted that I could touch my fingertips to my thumb unless I squeezed really hard.

I could see why it would scare the hell out of that girl Brad told me about. It kinda scared the hell out of me. It wasn't the length I found intimidating. It was the thickness. I knew what it was like for my doctor to stick his finger up my ass. I shivered at the thoughts of something like Brad's cock being shoved up there. I have to admit, though, it was beautiful to look at, if cocks can be called beautiful. It was a bit paler than the rest of him. No nude sunbathing going on here. And it was smooth. Only pale, blue lines showed where the veins were. There were no bumps or ridges on it.

The piss tube was huge, though. It looked like a pencil lying along the underside of his dick. His cut line was there, but the scarring was amazingly absent and only showed up as a pink ring around it. But it was the head that captured my attention. I've seen a lot of cocks in my days, and I've seen all sorts of cockheads, and this was the most perfect I've ever seen. The glans ridge flared out at just the right angle and swept up on the underside to make a perfect ‘V'. The head itself was a pretty, purplish-pink hue and as smooth as the rest of his cock. I couldn't see the tip, or the piss slit, but I imagined it was just as nice as the rest of him.

Yes, I would have to admit that it was definitely beautiful, but it was frightening at the same time. If Brad didn't care who he fucked, he could be in Fuckers' Paradise. People would line up for it. But I could see how he would have trouble trying to find someone he really liked to share it with. Brad had what I had wished for all my life, and now I realized just how lucky I was not having it. At least I had sex. Quite a bit of it. A nineteen-year-old man as handsome and nice as Brad should not be a virgin. He shouldn't have to rely on his own hands to feel good.

Brad's cock grew like the branch of a tree out of the opened zipper of his shorts, held down flat against his belly by the elastic band of his underwear and extending beyond his indented belly button. I watched as it rose and fell in tempo with Brad's breathing, like a long rubber tube floating on an ocean of skin and soft hairs.

I looked back up to Brad's face. He was looking at me. Staring, really. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his left hand moving back to the denim-covered balls which were clearly outlined there. His other hand wrapped itself around the shaft and began to stroke slowly.

I could see him working up a good dose of saliva in his mouth. He released his cock and brought his palm close to his mouth and spit in it. I followed his hand down to his cock where he rubbed the saliva on the massive cockhead, twisting it around and moistening it. He spit another load into his hand, and then another, my eyes following every move. His left thumb hooked itself into the waistband of his underwear and tugged it closer to his balls. And then he started to jerk off.

Just like last night, I was mesmerized. Watching Brad make love to himself was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was an exercise in art. It was a display of beauty. There was nothing dirty or pornographic about it. It was symphonic. And I was surprised that I was enjoying watching it so much.

I didn't know how much I enjoyed it until I saw Brad look down at my own crotch and I realized I had my left hand shoved into my jeans, moving my cock upward and to one side so it could grow more comfortably. I should have pulled my hand back out, but I didn't want to. I left it there. Brad's eyes moved back up to watch my face again.

My own eyes travelled down his body to the hand sliding easily and gracefully up and down his shaft. A drop of pre-cum appeared at the tip. It grew with each stroke of his hand, expanding into a droplet, until it grew too large to hold itself in place. It began to sag, lower and lower, and it became so heavy that it fell slowly to his lower chest, dangling from the slit with a glittering strand of fluid. Another droplet began to form and it followed the strand, slipping downward to join its partner.

Brad worked his cock like a sculptor works with clay. He played the flesh like a violin virtuoso. Each stroke was precise and planned, dancing across the skin, and each stroke had only one purpose, and that was to bring pleasure to him. A shiver of excitement shot up my spine when I realized the tender care with which Brad loved himself.

His hand slowly picked up speed. So slowly that I barely even noticed. I don't know how much time passed. Time didn't mean anything. I could only watch the hand working its magic.

I could see Brad tensing up. He leaned into the sofa and arched his back, pushing his hips forward and up. His thumb dug deeper into his underwear. I watched intently as his hand reached the bottom of the shaft and stopped. He pushed his cock straight up with his thumb and held it there. It was like looking at my own private CN Tower. He tensed again, and I could see the cockhead pulsing, growing bigger and smoother. His cock began to move on its own, a breathing, living entity. It was alive and it was about to give birth. And then Brad sat upright. His cock continued to pulsate and he looked at it. And then he leaned down.

I think I gasped as I saw his lips meet the tip, and then they split themselves and moved downward. His jaws opened wide and his lips stretched themselves around until they blanketed the entire head of his cock. Brad closed his eyes. I could see the glans pressing against his cheek, and I watched as it throbbed. He began to moan, and moans turned quickly to groans. His breaths came in urgent gasps through his nose and his brow furled. His cheeks moved in and out as he suctioned the air from his mouth. Bradley Hayes was sucking his own cock, and it was something I had never seen before. But it was one of the most incredibly beautiful.

His cock shaft began to expand and Brad's groans turned into grunts. His forehead wrinkled and I could see the fluids pumping through the urethra. Brad winced and grunted loudly, and I could only guess that he was blasting semen into his mouth. From the show last night, I could only imagine the power with which it splashed off the roof of his mouth. I could see him swallowing as he continued to grunt and wince. His cheeks inflated and he somehow managed to pull his lips away from the shaft as he sucked in desperate gulps of air. Streams of semen began to flow down his cock. Too much for him to hold on his tongue. Too much for him to swallow.

I watched his orgasm, and I think I even groaned myself. Finally, he couldn't handle it anymore and pulled away from his cock, sitting back against the sofa, gasping for breath. Semen dripped from his open mouth and down his chin. His hand took over as the orgasm drew to an end. He pumped out the last few shots of semen onto his chest and it ran down his stomach and off his sides, dropping into small pools on the sofa. The rest flowed onto his hands, his fingers.

His hand stopped moving, simply holding his cock as it calmed down and began to soften. Cum dripped off his chin, dripping onto his neck and chest. His scent filled the room. The youthful smell of manly release. His breathing slowed eventually. It was a long time before he spoke.

He finally turned his head and looked at me. Cum sparkled on his chin. "That's what I think I want to do to you, Ted," he said.

Re: Watching Brad

WATCHING BRAD
Part VII

Well, now. Things were just getting better and better. Just a few hours ago, Brad was telling me he thought he was falling in love with me, and now he's telling me he wants to suck me off. Now, don't get me wrong. I like head as much as the next guy, but Gee-sus Murphy! Brad was a guy! Granted, he's prettier than The Bitch, but he's a guy! He doesn't even know what sex is, and he wants to have it with me.

You're up to your ass in it now, de Villiers. Look where your curiosity got you.

Hey! Wait a minute! That isn't what he said. He said, "That's what I think I want to do to you." There's a big difference - wanting to do something and just thinking you want to do it. So, he's not sure. He wants to experiment with me. He might be gay, and he might not. He wants to use me to find out.

So, what if I let him do it? What if he likes it and wants to do it again? What if he likes it so much he wants to do it all the time? What if he wants me to do it to him? Even if I felt inclined to suck a cock, what in hell could I do with that pole he carries around? My jaws hurt just thinking about it. And then I remembered him cumming. I had just watched him. He couldn't even take it all in his mouth. He had to let the rest drip down his cock. What if he wanted me to take it like he did? The pizza and beer started rolling in my stomach.

I don't even know why I was thinking about this. Getting a blowjob from Brad simply wasn't an option, especially when he wasn't even sure he wanted to do it. I mean, it's every guy's dream to be able to suck themselves off and have a blowjob instead of having to jerk off, but that didn't make them cocksuckers. It just made them lucky. Brad was lucky, but he wasn't a cocksucker.

"We'll talk about that later, Brad," I said. "Right now, I need a cigarette - or maybe two. . . or three."

I walked to the patio door, slid it open, and walked out onto the patio, closing the door behind me. The humidity was settling in again for the night, but there was a nice breeze. I opened the door again, stuck my head inside, and yelled, "Brad! Bring some beers with you!"

"Okay!" he yelled back from down the hall.

"I need some patio furniture," I said to myself out loud. "A few chairs, a nice table. Maybe with an umbrella. A few loungers. And a great, big, fat butt bucket." I thought of the big, fat, butt bucket and decided right then and there that I would quit smoking. . . right after I finish this cigarette.

I popped one out of the package, stuck it in my mouth, and lit it up. I made my way to the stone wall and sat down. Brad appeared a few minutes later, carrying four bottles of beer. His shorts were all done up now, and he was carefully packed away again in them, but he was still bare- chested. He set two of the beers on the stone wall and sat down beside me, twisting off the caps and handing me one of the bottles.

"Thanks," I said.

"Welcome," he replied. "You know, Perkins never knew I could do that. I never showed him. No-one knows I can do it except you."

"Why did you show me?"

"I don't know. It's like I was saying before. Something's happening to me and I don't understand it. I've only known you for one day and already I want you to know everything there is to know about me. I wanted you to know I could do that. I like being with you. I feel comfortable with you."

"Brad, I'm not gay."

He turned on me. "Dammit, Ted! Do you have to keep telling me that!? You think I don't know that!?"

"Keep your voice down!" I warned him.

His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "You think I'm going to rape you or something? I wouldn't do that to you, Ted! I don't even want to have sex with you!"

"Then what was all that in the house?" I whispered. "You give yourself a blowjob and then you tell me you want to give me one, too, and now you tell me you don't even want to have. . ." And then it hit me. Square in the face. Full impact. "Oh, shit, Brad. You were going to give me a blowjob so I would be your friend."

In the light of the moon hanging over the rooftop and the light from the livingroom filtering out into the night, I could see Brad nodding his head.

"Oh, Brad." I said. I set my beer and cigarette onto the wall beside me and grabbed Brad by the arms. "Shit! Listen to me, Brad. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"You can't buy friends," I told him. "You're young. You think you can, but when you get older, like me, you realize that you can't. They stay friends as long as you keep giving them what they want, but the moment you stop, them moment you realize you're only there for one thing, they walk."

"But you bought me all that food, and you took me school and to the Tower and the restaurant and everything."

"And you think I was buying your friendship?"

"Yes."

"I did it because you're already my friend. I didn't have to buy that. You gave it to me. I did it because I wanted to."

"And I wanted to give you a blowjob."

"No, you didn't," I told him. "You thought you had to. There's a big difference, Brad. And you don't have to buy my friendship. You had it the instant you picked up that dresser yesterday. Just like you gave me your friendship."

"Friends do things for each other," he said. There was a whole lot of confusion going on.

"Friends give friends apple fritters. They don't give them blowjobs."

"But what if I really want to give you a blowjob someday?"

"Well," I said as I took my hands from his arms, "I'll have to think about that one."

"So will I," he said quietly.

I picked up my beer and smoke, took a swig of the beer and a drag of the smoke. Both tasted pretty darned good. Maybe I'll quit smoking tomorrow instead. "It's too hot to think," I said. "Can we just talk?"

"Sure."

Can I ask you a personal question, then?"

"Sure," he repeated.

"It's about your parents. They're a lot older than I thought they would be and, to be honest, you don't look like either of them."

Brad shrugged. "That's because they probably adopted me."

"You mean you don't know for sure?"

"No."

"Don't you want to know?"

"No. They're my parents. They're the ones who love me. They're the ones I love. If I have another mother and father, they're not my parents and I wouldn't even want to know who they are."

"Everyone has a choice, Ted. If they loved me, they wouldn't have given me away."

"You're talking like you already know."

"I don't know for sure," he said, "but I'm pretty sure I am. I just don't want to know. Mom and Dad are the only parents I want to have."

And then I started to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Brad asked with a smile. I could see his chipped tooth, even in the dim light.

"I was just thinking about your Mom this afternoon," I said. "You walk into the kitchen with a basketball in your pants and she's embarrassed by your ‘Kiss Me I'm Beautiful' T-shirt."

Brad grinned. "Yeah, well. She didn't like me wearing tight shorts at first until she found out the loose shorts didn't help. Dad's the really funny one, though."

"Your Dad? He didn't sound like the funny type to me."

"Yeah, but he is, in his own way." Brad laughed. "He keeps reminding me how much money I'm saving on those penis enhancement pills."

"As if you needed them." I laughed with him and drained the rest of my beer. "Got another beer there?"

He twisted off the cap and handed me the bottle.

I took another drink, and so did Brad, and then said quietly, "Ted? Thank you for watching me tonight."

"You're welcome, I think. Why are you thanking me for that?"

Brad hung his head down, not quite hiding his shy smile. "It kinda turned me on," he said. "I've never done it with someone so close to me like that and it was more exciting than I expected."

"Did you do it to try to buy my friendship?"

"No," he admitted. "I did it because I wanted to. I like you watching me do it."

"Well, I have to admit that I enjoy watching you." I lit up another cigarette.

He looked up at me again. "Would you like to watch me do it again sometime?"

"Would you like me to watch you?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then I'd like to watch."

Brad stood up then, unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down. Even in the dim light, I could see his hardening cock pushing at the denim.

"You're going to do it here? Now?"

"If I don't, I'm going to hurt myself." Brad hooked his thumbs into his shorts and underwear and pushed them to the grass. He pulled one foot out and kicked them away with the other. I could hear them hit the grass somewhere. He wasn't hard yet, but he was getting there. Fast.

He sat down again, cupping his balls in his hand to keep them from banging into the stone wall, and wrapped his hand around his cock. Within three strokes, he was hard and ready to go.

It was kinky. Sitting out here in my back yard in nothing but his socks and whacking away at his meat. What was worse, my own cock was hard as well. I don't know why I found this so exciting, but I did. I decided not to wait for bedtime this time. I dropped my cigarette to the ground, undid my own shorts, pushed them to my knees, and joined him.

Neither of us lasted long. When Brad started cumming, so did I. I always thought I was doing good if I could squirt all the way to my nipples when I was lying down. I never shot that high when I was sitting up. I did this time, though. Probably because of what I was seeing.

Brad's orgasm was amazing, even after having had one just a little while ago. The first shot cleared his head entirely, landing somewhere in his own back yard. The second and third shots splattered his face and hair. The rest coated his chest and stomach.

When he was finished, he kept stoking gently, squeezing the last drops of cream out of his pump. His mouth was hanging open and Brad was gasping for breath and groaning as quietly as he could. His chest heaved in and out and his whole body jerked in the aftermath. I remember when my own orgasms had felt that good.

He ran his tongue around his lips, gathering the cum which had landed there. "Gee-sus, Murphy!" he said.

Cum dripped off his eyebrow and onto his eye. Fortunately, his eyes were closed, but he clenched them tighter and his hand came up quickly and wiped at the semen. He scooped it onto his fingers and wiped it on his chest, then wiped at his eye again as cum continued dripping onto it. I quickly checked my pockets. No tissue, no nothing. I pulled off my shorts.

"Hold still, Brad," I said when he was wiping the cum on his chest for the second time. I used the leg of my shorts to gently wipe his eye and eyebrow. I stuck my hand in the other leg and sopped up the cum on his forehead, then changed to a dry spot and wiped his eyes again.

"Okay," I said, "try to open your eyes."

He did, slowly, then clenched them shut and opened them slowly again. He blinked hard a few times, opened his mouth and opened his eyes wide, then blinked again. "Well," he said, "that was a damned stupid thing to do."

I laughed lightly as I pulled up my tighty-whities. "You okay?"

"I feel like an idiot, but I'm okay."

"Rather anti-climactic after the good bits, wasn't it. Sure puts a damper on the mood."

Brad turned to me and grinned. "Sure did, didn't it? I guess I should have brought out a Kleenex or something."

"Gee-sus, Murphy, Brad! You need a roll of paper towels to clean all that up!"

We laughed. And then he stopped and stared at me. His hand came up to my cheek, his touch barely a whisper on my skin. "Thank you, Ted."

He must have thought his hand was on my cheek for too long because he suddenly pulled it away and said, "Sorry."

"That's okay. I didn't mind."

He turned to the back yard, scanning the ground. "Did you see where my shorts went? I have to see if I can get in the house without Mom and Dad seeing me so I can get a shower."

"You can use mine," I suggested. "I have to take one myself."

"Cool," he said, "but I still need my pants."

I pointed into the dark. "I think they went thataway."

"You're a big help." Brad stood up and started walking, scanning the ground as he went. A moment later, he said, "Found ‘em." He came back to the wall, carrying his shorts and underwear. "Do you mind if I leave them off until I get showered? I hate cummy clothes."

"Why don't you go in now and have one. I'll have another smoke while you're in there."

"Okay," Brad said. "Can we come back out and sit for awhile after? I like it out here."

"Sure."

"This has been the best day of my life, Ted. Thanks for everything."

"It's been a pleasure, believe me."

Brad tilted his bottle and chugged the rest of his beer, gathered up the empty bottles, and headed into the house. I watched him go. I lit a cigarette and took a deep drag on it.

I thought about putting on my shorts, but they were soaked with cum. Not much of it was mine. It was mostly Brads. Boy, that kid could shoot! With the size of his nuts, though, I shouldn't be surprised. I spread out my shorts and laid them over the wall beside me.

I looked over my shoulder to where that first shot would have landed. You know, the one that pole-vaulted right over his head. It was back there somewhere, fertilizing the grass. I remembered my cock twitched when I saw that. The beginning of it was already above his head before the tail left his cock. And then it continued flying like a party streamer, right on over him, and not a drop landed on him. I was almost waiting for the fireworks to burst.

It was a clean vault. He didn't even wobble the bar. That's when my own orgasm started. I remember that. As soon as I saw Brad cumming, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop my own. Hell, if Brad sold tickets to watch him cum, I'd be first in line to buy mine, and I'd buy a season pass.

And I didn't know why.

What in hell was going on with me? I don't like porn. I don't like watching people have sex. Not even with themselves. But, here I was, getting turned on watching Brad. Gee-sus, Murphy, Ted, you're getting weird.

Okay. Think. What's the attraction? Is it just the size of his prick? His balls? Is it the way he jerks himself off? Do I wish I had what he had so I could do it, too? Is it his youth? Is it his boyish beauty? These were all questions in my mind, and I didn't have answers to any of them. Just like Brad didn't have answers for his own questions. But Brad was trying to find himself. I wasn't. I found myself years ago. Lindsay was proof of that. But here I was. Looking for answers again.

I shook my head to clear it. Too many beers to think. Tomorrow would be a better time to do it. I always do my best thinking on Monday when I'm at work.

Oh, yeah. I took the next two days off. Well, I'm screwed, I thought. Might as well start now. I lit up another cigarette as I waited for Brad.

People get lost in thought sometimes. I was more than lost. I wasn't even sure which planet I was on. All I know is I almost fell off the wall when Brad said, "Hi, Ted."

"You're funny when you're scared," he said, grinning from ear to ear as he sat down and set four more beers beside him.

"Yeah, well, it won't seem so funny when you have to help the paramedics cart me off to the Stiff House!"

He giggled, and I couldn't stay mad at him long. His giggle had a way of cheering me up fast.

"Shower's empty," he said after a few moments.

"I'll wait until I go to bed," I said. "I can wait. I dribble when I cum. You paint."

He was quiet as he twisted off the caps of two beers and handed me one. "You know, that's the first time I've ever seen a man do that."

"What, cum?"

Brad nodded. "And masturbate, too," he said quietly. "I liked it. I'd like to watch you again sometime." His head remained aimed at the darkness, but his eyes turned to meet mine. "If you'll let me."

"Aw, come on, Brad," I said, "you don't want to watch an old gaffer like me whacking his Willie. I'm out of shape. My love handles are bigger than your pecs. You've got more hair in your nose than I've got on my chest. I've got a dick that would fit in a Pez dispenser."

"Don't do that, Ted."

"Do what?"

"Put yourself down like that. You're a good looking man, and you're a nice man."

"And I'm almost twice your age, Brad," I said. "Wouldn't you rather find some young buck like yourself to watch?"

I could see his head shaking. "No." He stared at me across the darkness. And then he leaned forward again. I knew he was going to kiss me, but he wasn't aiming for my cheek this time. He was going straight for the lips. I thought he would stop, but he didn't. I thought I would stop him, but I couldn't. His lips pressed against mine. He didn't do anything else, and neither did I. We just stayed there like that for a moment, our lips pressed together, and then he pulled away again, and when he did, I saw that his eyes were closed.

He opened them and looked at me, and then he turned away. He took a deep breath and let it out, then grabbed his beer and set it between us. "Better drink that before it goes flat," he said as he stood up. "If you need help tomorrow, just knock on the door. I'll be home all day."

I stood up. "Brad?"

He didn't look at me. "Thanks for the best day of my life, Ted," he said softly. "Goodnight."

Without another word, he stepped over the wall and left. I watched his silhouette as he walked between our houses and disappeared around the corner at the front of his. I sat back down on the wall and pulled out another cigarette.

Behind me, the light from Brad's bedroom came on. I didn't turn around.